


A Wizard, Two Hobbits, and the Fellowship of the Ring

by Whovian101



Series: A Doctor, A Wizard, and A Hobbit [2]
Category: Doctor Who, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-07-30 08:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20094139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whovian101/pseuds/Whovian101
Summary: The Doctor crash lands into his old friend Bilbo Baggins' eleventy first birthday party and decides to partake in a journey that he won't quickly forget.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments. I would love to hear what you think, any ideas you may have, or what I should do next!

The Doctor checked his calendar. He needed something joyous, something that could combat the pain in his hearts. “Oh, that’ll be brilliant.” The Doctor smiled, zeroing in on an invitation to the eleventy-first birthday of his old friend Bilbo Baggins before saying the one phrase that always blessed him with adventure and trouble: “What could possibly go wrong?”


	2. A Long-Expected Party

The Doctor held on tight to the console as the TARDIS rocked and shook, “Oh, this is not good, this is very much not good.” 

The console sparked. The Doctor swore in Gallifreyan as the TARDIS caught fire.

The moment he landed, the Doctor sprinted out the TARDIS door, bolting it shut and breathing a sigh of relief. She would heal on her own in time.

“Doctor!”

The Doctor took this opportunity to look around. He was inside Bilbo’s hobbit hole. Bilbo was standing there in.

“Bilbo!” 

“Have you yet to meet Frodo?”

“I haven’t.” 

“Frodo!” Bilbo summoned him.

Frodo was a kind young lad as well as Frodo’s younger cousin and adopted heir. He was on the younger side for a hobbit, as he was turning thirty-three, which was the coming of age for a hobbit, the same day Bilbo was turning eleventy one.

When the sun went up, the clouds vanished, flags were unfurled and the fun began. Bilbo called it a party, but it was really a variety of entertainments rolled into one. Practically everybody living near was invited. A very few were overlooked by accident, but they turned up all the same, that did not seem to matter. 

When every guest had been welcomed and was finally inside the gate, there were songs, dances, music, games, and, of course, food and drink. There were three official meals: lunch, tea, and supper. But lunch and tea were marked chiefly by the fact that at those times all the guests were sitting down and eating together. At other times, there were merely lots of people eating and drinking – continuously from elevenses until six-thirty, when the fireworks started.

The fireworks were by Gandalf, who also was there. He seemed quite pleased to see the Doctor…Too pleased…suspiciously pleased…the best kind of pleased. Not only were the fireworks brought by Gandalf, they were designed and made by him, as well as the special effects, set pieces, and flights of rockets were let off by him. But there was a generous distribution of squibs, crackers, backarappers, sparklers, torches, dwarf-candles, elf-fountains, goblin-barkers, and thunder-claps.

There were rockets like a flight of scintillating birds singing with sweet voices. There were green trees with trunks of dark smoke: their leaves opened like a whole spring unfolding in a moment, and their shining branches dropped glowing flowers down upon the astonished hobbits, disappearing with a sweet scent just before they touched their upturned faces. There were fountains of butterflies that flew glittering into the trees; there were pillars of coloured fires that rose and turned into eagles, sailing shops, or a phalanx of flying swans. There was a red thunderstorm and a shower of yellow rain; there was a forest of silver spears that sprang suddenly into the air with a yell like an embattled army and came down again into the water with a hiss like a hundred hot snakes. 

And there was one last surprise, in honor of Bilbo, and it startled the hobbits exceedingly, as Gandalf intended. The lights went out. A great smoke went up. It shaped itself like a mountain seen in the distance, and began to glow at the summit. It spouted green and scarlet flames. Out flew a red-golden dragon – not life-size, but terribly life-like: fire came from his jaws, his eyes glared down; there was a roar, and he whizzed three times over the heads of the crowd. They all ducked, and many fell flat on their faces. The dragon passed like an express train, turned a somersault, and burst over Bywater with a deafening explosion.

“That is the signal for supper!” said Bilbo. The pain and alarm vanished at once, and there was a splendid supper for everyone; for everyone, that is, except those invited to the special family dinner-party, which Bilbo was more than happy to invite the Doctor to. This was held in the great pavilion with the tree. The guests were selected from all the families to which Bilbo and Frodo were related, with the addition of a few special unrelated friends (such as Gandalf and the Doctor). Many young hobbits were included, and present by parental permission; for hobbits were easy-going with their children in the matter of staying up late, especially when there was a chance of getting them a free meal. 

All of the one hundred and forty four (now one hundred and forty five) guests expected a pleasant feast; although they rather dreaded the after-dinner speech of their host (an inevitable item). He was liable to drag in bits of what he called poetry; and sometimes, after a glass or two, would allude to the absurd adventures of his journey. The guests did not seem disappointed: they had a very pleasant feast, in fact an engrossing entertainment: rich, abundant, varied, and prolonged. The purchase of provisions fell almost nothing throughout the district in the ensuing weeks, but as Bilbo’s catering had depleted the stocks of most of the stores, cellars and warehouses for miles around, that did not matter much.

After the feast came the Speech. Most of the company were, however, now in a tolerant mood, at that delightful stage which they called ‘filling up the corners’. They were sipping their favorite drinks and nibbling at their favorite dainties, and their fears were forgotten. They were prepared to listen to anything, and to cheer at every full stop.

_ “My dear people,”  _ began Bilbo, rising in his place, then making his way to stand on a chair under the illuminated tree. The light of the lanterns fell on his beaming face. The golden buttons shone on his embroidered silk waistcoat. They could all see him standing, waving one hand in the air, the other was in his trouser-pocket. _ “My dear Bagginses and Boffins, and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses, and Proudfoots.” _

“Proudfeet!” shouted an elderly hobbit from the back of the pavilion. His name, of course, was Proudfoot.

_ “Proudfoots,” _ repeated Bilbo. _ “Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy-one today!” _

“Hurray! Hurray! Many Happy Returns!” They shouted and they hammered joyously on the tables.

_ “I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am.”  _ Deafening cheers and cries of “Yes!” (and no). Noises of trumpets and horns, pipes, flutes, and other musical instruments. Hundreds of musical crackers had been pulled, most of them bore the mark of Dale on them, which did not convey much to most hobbits, but they all agreed they were marvellous crackers. 

But Bilbo had not finished. Seizing a horn from a youngster nearby, he blew three loud hoots and the noise subsided.  _ “I shall not keep you long,”  _ he cried. There were cheers from the assembly.  _ “I have called you all together for a purpose.” _

Something in the way that he said this made an impression. There was almost silence.  _ “Indeed for three purposes! First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits.  _

There was a tremendous outburst of approval.  _ “I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” _

This was unexpected and rather difficult. There was some scattered clapping, but most of them were trying to work it out and see if it came as a compliment.

_ “Secondly, to celebrate my birthday, I should say: OUR birthday. But it is, of course, also the birthday of my heir and nephew, Frodo. He comes of age and into his inheritance today. _

There was some perfunctory clapping by the elders, as well as some loud shouts of ‘Frodo! Frodo! Jolly old Frodo!’ from the juniors.

_ “Together we score one hundred and forty-four. Your numbers were chosen to fit this remarkable total: One Gross, if I may use the expression. It is also, if I may be allowed to refer to ancient history, the anniversary of my arrival by barrel at Esgaroth on the Long Lake; although the fact that it was my birthday slipped my memory on that occasion. I was only fifty-one then, and birthdays did not seem so important. The banquet was very splendid, however, although I had a bad cold at the time, I remember, and could only say ‘thag you very buch’. Now I repeat it more correctly: Thank you very much for coming to my little party. _

There was an obstinate silence. Bilbo paused for a moment.

_ “Thirdly and finally,”  _ he said, _ “I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT.” _ He spoke the last word so loudly and suddenly, that everyone sat up who still could.  _ “I regret to announce that – although, as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you – this is the END. I am going. I am leaving. NOW. GOOD-BYE!” _

Bilbo stepped down and vanished. There was a blinding flash of light, and the guests all blinked. Bilbo was nowhere to be seen. One hundred and forty-four flabbergasted hobbits sat back speechless. Old Odo Proudfoot removed his feet from the table and stamped. There was a dead silence, until suddenly, after several deep breaths, everyone began to talk at once.

The Doctor found himself making his way towards Frodo, as he had been the only one aside from the Doctor himself who hadn’t made a sound for quite some time. His eyes had a spark of amusement, it seemed he had known this was to happen, but there was also a sadness. It seemed bitter-sweat in a way.

Many had already departed in wrath. Frodo did not seem to want to have any more to do with the party, so he gave orders for more wine to be served, got up, drained his own glass silently, and slipped out of the pavilion, the Doctor right behind.

“Why are you following me?” Frodo turned and looked at the Doctor, he didn’t seem angry or paranoid, just confused.

“You knew Bilbo would do this, did you not?”  
“I did.”

“Than I thought you might be out to find Gandalf, whose company I seek.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Frodo led the Doctor into the hobbit hole and they found Gandalf sitting in the dark, deep in thought. “Has he gone?” Frodo asked.

“Yes,” answered Gandalf, “he has gone at last.”

“I wish – I mean, I hoped until this evening that it was only a joke,” said Frodo. “But I knew in my heart that he really meant to go. He always used to joke about serious things. I wish I had come back sooner, just to see him off.”

“I think really he preferred slipping off quietly in the end,” said Gandalf. “Don’t be too troubled. He’ll be all right – now. He left a packet for you. There it is!”

Frodo took the envelope from the mantelpiece, and glanced at it, but did not open it.

“You’ll find his will and all the other documents in there, I think,” said the wizard. “You are the master of Bag End now. And also, I fancy, you’ll find a golden ring.”  
The Doctor subconsciously tensed up.

“The ring!” exclaimed Frodo. “Has he left me that? I wonder why. Still, it may be useful.”

“It may, and it may not,” said Gandalf. “I should not make use of it, if I were you. But keep it secret, and keep it safe! Now I am going to bed.”

And Gandalf was gone.

“I’m sorry you did not get the chance to speak with him.” Frodo apologized to the Doctor.

“It matters not, sit down and let us talk. Tell me, how much has Bilbo told you of his journey?”   
  


The Doctor and Frodo bid the guests farewell. Rumours of strange events had by now spread all over the field, but Frodo would only say, “No doubt everything will be cleared up in the morning.” About midnight, carriages came for the important folk. One by one, they rolled away, filled with full but very unsatisfied hobbits. Gardeners came by arrangement, and removed in wheelbarrows those that had inadvertently remained behind.

Night slowly passed. The Doctor continuously checked on the TARDIS. She was still healing. Still not ready to fly.

The sun rose and the hobbits rose rather later. Morning went on and people came and began (by orders) to clear away the pavilions.

Frodo was waiting on the step. After the Doctor had checked on the TARDIS, he sat down beside him. Frodo looked rather tired and worried. He welcomed all the callers, but he had not much more to say than before. The Doctor then took the initiative and began to reply to the inquiries.

“Go get some sleep, Frodo.” The Doctor suggested.

“No, no.” Frodo said, but after a while, he did make his way within the hobbit hole. The Doctor continued to reply to those inquiring about the whereabouts of Bilbo with: “Bilbo Baggins has gone away, as far as I know, for good.” Some of the visitors the Doctor invited inside, as Frodo had informed him that Bilbo had left ‘messages’ for them.

Inside the hall, there was piled a large assortment of packages and parcels and small articles of furniture. On every item there was a label tied. There were several labels on this sort:

_ For ADELARD TOOK, for his VERY OWN, from Bilbo;  _ on an umbrella. Adelard had carried off many unlabeled ones.

_ For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo;  _ on a large waste-paper basket. Dora was Drogo’s sister and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than half a century.

_ For MILO BURROWS, hoping it will be useful, from B.B.;  _ on a gold pen and ink-bottle. Milo never answered letters.

_ For ANGELICA’S use, from Uncle Bilbo;  _ on a round convex mirror. She was a young Baggins, and too obviously considered her face shapely.

_ For the collection of HUGO BRACEGIRDLE, from a contributor;  _ on an (empty) book-case. Hugo was a great borrower of books, and worse than usual at returning them.

_ For LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS, as a PRESENT;  _ on a case of silver spoons. Bilbo had believed that she had acquired a good many of his spoons, while he was away on his former journey. Lobelia knew that quite well. When she arrived later in the day, she took the point at once, but she also took the spoons.

This was only a small selection of the assembled presents. Bilbo’s residence had gotten rather cluttered up with things since the Doctor had been here. Every one of the various parting gifts had labels, written out personally by Bilbo, and several had some point, or some joke. But, of course, most of the things were given where they would be wanted and welcome. But there was plenty of everything left for Frodo.

The Doctor was very careful who he let in, and Bilbo did help with that. They didn’t want the place overrun with people who didn’t belong there.

That evening, there was a knock at the door. The Doctor had recently come in to make Frodo a cup of tea.

In opening the door, the Doctor found himself face to face with Gandalf.

“How are you, young Frodo?”

“Completely knackered.” Frodo admitted, “There was a time today that I almost put on Bilbo’s ring, I so longed to disappear.”

“Don’t do that!” said Gandalf, sitting down. “Do be careful of that ring, Frodo! In fact, it is partly about that that I have come to say a last word.”

“Well, what about it?”

“What do you know already?”

“Only what Bilbo and the Doctor has told me. I have heard their stories, how it was found and how it was used on the journey.”

“And what did you think of it all?”

“If you mean, inventing all that about a ‘present’, well, I thought it was very unlike Bilbo to do so, anyway, and I thought it rather odd.”

“So did I, but odd things may happen to people that have such treasures – if they use them. Let it be a warning to you to be very careful with it. It may have other powers than just making you vanish when you wish to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” answered the wizard. “I have merely begun to wonder about the ring, especially since last night. No need to worry. But if you take my advice you will use it very seldom, or not at all. At least, I beg you not to use it in any way that will cause talk or rouse suspicion. I say again: keep it safe, and keep it secret!”

“You are very mysterious! What are you afraid of?”

“I am not certain, so I will say no more. I may be able to tell you something when I come back. I am going off at once: so this is goodbye for the present.” Gandalf got up.

“At once!” cried Frodo. “Why, I thought you were staying on for at least a week. I was looking forward to your help.”

“I did mean to –” Gandalf began, but the Doctor cut him off.

“I will be staying instead.” The Doctor said, “I am more than happy to help.”

“Goodbye now.” Gandalf said, “Take care of yourself. Look out for me, especially at unlikely times. Goodbye.”

Frodo saw him out the door.

The evening closed in and his cloaked figure quickly vanished into the twilight.


	3. Gandalf's Exposition

The talk did not die down for a long time. For weeks on end the Doctor went to check on the TARDIS every day, only to find her out of commision.

“Perhaps she had one too many crashes.” Frodo suggested. 

“She’ll be all right.” The Doctor said, assuring more himself than Frodo. “She just needs some rest.”

“Doctor, it’s been weeks…”

“And she’s been flying around the universe for thousands of years. This is nothing. She’ll be fine.”

The talk did not die down in the weeks since Bilbo’s party. The second disappearance of Bilbo was discussed in Hobbiton, and indeed all over the Shire, for a long time. The general opinion in the neighbourhood was that Bilbo had at last gone quite mad and had run off into the Blue. There, he had undoubtedly fallen into a pool or a river and come to a tragic, but hardly and untimely, end. The blame was mostly laid on Gandalf and the Doctor.

“If only those dratted wizards would leave young Frodo alone, perhaps he’ll settle down and grow some hobbit-sense.” They said. But the Doctor did not do so. Where it’s true, he spent a lot of time in the TARDIS, she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so he lived mostly with Frodo. 

Frodo had a few good friends, mostly among the younger hobbits who had, as children, been fond of Bilbo and were often in and out of Bag End. Folco Boffin and Fredegar Bolger were two of those; but his closest friends were Peregrin Took (usually called Pippin), and Merry Brandybuck (His real name was Meriadoc, but that was seldom remembered). Frodo and the Doctor went tramping over the Shire with them, but more often the Doctor and Frodo wandered alone together, they would often spend evenings away from the hobbits stargazing. The Doctor could point out and name every star in the sky, and this was often a good time to tell stories. Frodo was fascinated by the Doctor’s stories.

“I do wish I had gone with Bilbo.” Frodo admitted after a while. “It can be so dull here.”

“Then why don’t you go?” The Doctor asked.

“Just, something inside me tells me that I can’t yet. Not yet.”

And so time went on.

The Doctor could tell that Frodo was getting restless. He would look at Bilbo’s old maps, having the Doctor trace out their adventures. 

There were rumours of strange things happening in the world outside, but Gandalf had not appeared for a long time. Elves, who seldom walked in the Shire, could now be seen passing westward through the woods in the evening, passing and not returning; but they were leaving Middle-earth and were no longer concerned with its trouble. There were, however, dwarves on the road in unusual numbers. The ancient East-West Road ran through the Shire to its end at the Grey Havens, and dwarves had always used it on their way to their mines in the Blue Mountains. They were the hobbits’ chief source of news from distant parts – if they wanted any: as a rule, dwarves said little to hobbits and asked no more. But now, the Doctor and Frodo often met strange dwarves of far countries, seeking refuge in the West. They were troubled, and some spoke in whispers of the Enemy and of the Land of Mordor.

It was early April when Gandalf finally reappeared after his long absence.

“All well, eh?” He asked as he made his way inside the hobbit hole. “You look the same as ever!”

“So do you.” Frodo replied, but the longer the Doctor looked at the wizard, the more he saw how exhausted he looked. Frodo pressed him for news of himself and the wide world, whilst the Doctor listened in observation. Watching as the wizard moved, seeing when he lied. Soon, they were deep in talk, and they stayed up far into the night.

The next morning, after a late breakfast, the wizard was sitting with Frodo and the Doctor by the open window of the study. A bright fire was on the hearth, but the sun was warm and the wind was in the South. Everything looked fresh, and the new green of spring was shimmering in the fields and on the tips of the trees’ fingers.

“Gandalf,” The Doctor began, “Last night you were telling us of the Ring. You stopped because you said that such matters were best left until daylight. Don’t you think you had better finish now? We know the ring is dangerous, but I take it you are much better informed than us.” It had appeared that spending so long with the hobbits had somewhat increased the Doctor’s patience.

“In many ways,” Gandalf said thoughtfully, “It is far more powerful than I ever dared to think at first, so powerful that in the end, it would utterly overcome anyone of mortal race who possessed it. It would possess them.” He looked at the Doctor, “I take it you know of the Rings of Power?”

The Doctor’s eyes widened, “You don’t mean…?”

“That I do.”

“What is it?” Frodo asked, looking lost.

“In Eregion, long ago, many Elven rings were made; magic rings as you could call them, and they were, of course, of various kinds: some more potent than others.” The Doctor explained. “The lesser rings were only essays in the craft before it was full-grown, and to the Elven-smiths, they were but trifles – yet still dangerous for mortals. But the Great Rings, the Rings of Power, they were perilous.”

“A mortal who keeps one of the Great Rings,” Gandalf said, “does not die, but does not grow or obtain more life, they merely continue until, at last, every minute is a weariness. And if they use the Ring to make themselves invisible, they fade: they become, in the end, invisible permanently, and walk in the twilight under the eye of the Dark Power that rules the Rings. Yes, sooner or later – later if they are strong or well-meaning to begin with, but neither strength nor good purpose will last – sooner or later, the Dark Power with devour them.”

“How terrifying!” Frodo breathed. There was a long silence. The sound of Frodo’s friend, Sam Gamgee, cutting the lawn came in from the garden.

“How long have you known this?” Frodo asked after the long silence. “How much does Bilbo know?”

“Bilbo knew no more than he told you, I am sure.” Gandalf said. “He would certainly never have passed on to you anything he thought would be a danger, even though I promised to look after you. He thought the ring was very beautiful, and very useful at need; and if anything was wrong or strange, it was himself. He said that it was ‘growing on his mind’, and he was always worrying about it, but he did not suspect that the ring itself was to blame. Although, he had found out that the thing needed looking after, it did not seem always of the same size or weight: It shrank or expanded in an odd way, and might suddenly slip off a finger where it had been tight.”

“Yes, he warned us of that in his last letter,” said Frodo, “so I have always kept it on its chain.” Bilbo had been quite pleased that the Doctor had been staying with Frodo. He would send letters every so often, asking what was happening back in the Shire and how the two of them were.

“Very wise,” said Gandalf, “But as for his long life, Bilbo never connected it with the ring at all. He took all the credit for that to himself and he was very proud of it. Although, he was getting restless and uneasy.  _ ‘Thin and stretched’, _ he had said. A sign that the ring was getting control.”

“How long have you known this?” The Doctor asked.

“Known?” said Gandalf thoughtfully, “I have known much that only the wise know,” The Doctor rolled his eyes. “But if you mean ‘known about  _ this  _ ring, well, I still do not know, one might say. There is a last test to make. But I no longer doubt my hypothesis.”

“And when did you begin to hypothesise?” The Doctor prompted.

“Let me see, it was in the year that the White Council drove the Dark Power from Mirkwood, just before the Battle of Five Armies, that Bilbo found his ring. A shadow fell on my heart then, although I did not know yet what I feared. I often wondered how Gollum came by a Great Ring, as plainly it was – that, at least, was clear from the first. Then I heard your strange story of when you touched it and I could not believe it. When I got the truth out of Bilbo from when he put it on, I saw at once that he had been trying to put his claim to the ring beyond doubt. Much like Gollum with his ‘birthday present’. The lies were too much alike for my comfort. Clearly the ring had an unwholesome power that set to work on its keeper at once. That was the first real warning I had that all was not well. I told Bilbo often that such rings were better left unused; but he resented it, and soon got angry. There was little else that I could do. I could not take it from him without doing greater harm; and I had no right to do so anyway. I could only watch and wait. I might perhaps have consulted Saruman the White, but something always held me back.”

“Who is he?” asked Frodo. “I have never heard of him before.”

“He’s another wizard, is he not?”

“That he is.” answered Gandalf. “Hobbits are – or were – no concern of his. Yet, he is great among the Wise. He is the chief of my order and the head of the Council. His knowledge is deep, but his pride has grown with it, and he takes ill any meddling. The lore of the Elven Rings, great and small, in his province. He has long studied it, seeking the lost secrets of their making; but when the Rings were debated in the Council, all that he would reveal to us of his ring-lore told against my fears. So my doubt slept – but uneasily. Still, I watched and waited.

“All seemed well with Bilbo. And the years passed. Yes, they passed, and they seemed not to touch him. He showed no signs of age. The shadow fell on me again. But I said to myself: ‘After all, he comes aus a long-lived family on his mother’s side. There is time yet. Wait!’

“And I waited. Until that night when he left this house. He said and did things then that filled me with a fear that no words of Saruman could allay. I knew at last that something dark and deadly was at work. And I have spent most of the time since then finding out the truth of it.”

“There wasn’t any permanent harm done, was there?” asked Frodo anxiously. “He would get all right in time, wouldn’t he? Be able to rest in peace, I mean?”

“He felt better at once.” Gandalf assured the young hobbit. “But there is only one power in this world that knows all about the Rings and their effects, and as far as I know, there is no power in the world that knows all about hobbits and Time Lords. Among the Wise, I am the only one that has ever heard of a Time Lord, or that goes in for hobbit lore: an obscure branch of knowledge, but full of surprises. Soft as butter they can be, and yet sometimes as tough as old tree roots. I think it likely that some would resist the Rings far longer than most of the Wise would believe. I don’t think you need worry about Bilbo.

“Of course, he possessed the ring for many years, and used it, so it might take a long while for the influence to wear off before it is safe for him to see it again. Otherwise, he might live on for years, quite happily, just stop as he was when he parted with it. For he gave it up in the end of his own accord: an important point. No, I am not troubled about dear Bilbo any more, now that he has let the thing go. It is for  _ you _ , Frodo, that I feel responsible.

“Ever since Bilbo left, I have been deeply concerned about you, and about all these charming, absurd, helpless hobbits. It would be a grievous blow to the world if the Dark Power overcame the Shire, if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bolgers, Hornblowers, Boffins, Bracegirdles, and the rest, not to mention the rediculous Bagginses, become enslaved.”

“And what is it that brings that to mind?” The Doctor asked.

“To tell you the truth,” replied Gandalf, “I believe that hitherto –  _ hitherto,  _ mark you – he has entirely overlooked the existence of hobbits. You should be thankful. But your safety has passed. He does not need you – he has many more useful servants – but he won’t forget you again. And hobbits as miserable slaves would please him far more than hobbits happy and free. There is such a thing as malice and revenge.”

“Revenge?” Asked Frodo. “Revenge for what? I still don’t understand what all this has to do with the Doctor and Bilbo and myself and our ring.”

“It has everything to do with it,” said Gandalf. “You do not know the real peril yet, but you shall. I was not sure of it myself, but the time has come to speak. Give me the ring for a moment.”

Frodo took the Ring from the pocket in his breeches where he kept it, clasped to a chain that hung from his belt. He unfastened it and handed it slowly to the wizard, so slowly that it almost seemed he was reluctant to let Gandalf touch it.

Gandalf held it up, it looked to be made of pure and solid gold. “Can you see any markings on it?” he asked.

“No.” said Frodo. “There are none. It is quite plain and it never shows a scratch or sign of wear.”

“Well the, look!” To Frodo’s astonishment and distress, the wizard threw it suddenly into the middle of a glowing corner of the fire. Frodo gave a cry and groped for the tongs, but the Doctor held him back.

“Wait, look!” No apparent change had come over the ring. It simply sat in the fire. After a while, Gandalf got up, closed the shutters outside the window and drew the curtains. The room became dark and silent, although the clack of Sam’s shears, now nearer to the windows, could still be heard faintly from the garden. For a moment, the wizard stood, looking at the fire. Then he stooped, removed the Ring from the hearth with the tongs, and at once picked it up. Frodo gasped.

“It is quite cool,” said Gandalf, “Take it!” Frodo received it on his shrinking palm. “Hold it up!” said Gandalf, “and look at it closely!”

As the Doctor examined it, careful not to touch, he now saw fine lines running along the ring, outside and inside: lines of fire that seemed to form the letters of a flowing script. They shone piercingly bright, and yet remote, as if out of a great depth. It was Elvish.

_ “One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,”  _ The Doctor read,  _ “One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.” _

“I take it you know the verse?” Gandalf asked. The Doctor nodded and began to recite for Frodo:

_ “‘Three Rings for the Elven kings under the sky, _

_ Seven for the Dwarf Lords in the halls of stone, _

_ Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, _

_ One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne _

_ In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. _

_ One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, _

_ One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them _

_ In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.’” _

He paused, staring down at the ring. “This is it. The Master Ring, the One Ring to rule them all.”

“This is the One Ring that he lost many ages ago, to the great weakening of his power.” Gandalf confirmed. “He greatly desires it – but he must  _ not  _ get it.”

Frodo sat silently and motionlessly. Fear seemed to stretch out a vast hand, like a dark cloud rising in the East and looming up to engulf him. “This ring!” he stammered. “How – how on earth did it come to me?”

“Ah!” said Gandalf. “That is a very long story. The beginnings lie back in the Black Years, which only the lore-masters now remember. If I were to tell you all that tale, we should still be sitting here when Spring had passed into Winter. But last night, I told you of Sauron the Great, the Dark Lord. The rumours that you have heard are true: he has indeed arisen again and left his hold in Mirwood and returned to his ancient fastness in the Dark Tower of Mordor. That name even you hobbits, and likely you Time Lords –” The Doctor grimaced at the pleural term, but chose not to comment. “– have heard of, like a shadow on the borders of old stories. Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again.”

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.

“As do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. And already, Frodo, our time beginning to look black. The Enemy is fast becoming very strong. His plans are far from ripe, I think, but they are ripening. We shall be hard put to it. We should be very hard put to it, even if it were not for this dreadful chance.

“The Enemy still lacks one thing to give him strength and knowledge to beat down all resistance, break the last defences, and cover all the lands in a second darkness. He lacks the One Ring.

“The Three, fairest of all, the Elf-lords hid from him, and his hand never touched or sullied them. Seven of the Dwarf-kings possessed, but three he has recovered, and the others the dragons have consumed. Nine he gave to Mortal Men, proud and great, and so ensnared them. Long ago they fell under the dominion of the One, and they became Ringwraiths, shadows under his great Shadow, his most terrible servants. Long ago. It is many a year since the Nine walked abroad. Yet who knows? As the Shadow grows once more, they too may walk again. But come! We will not speak of such things even in the morning of the Shire.

“So it is now: the Nine he has gathered to himself; the Seven also, or else they are destroyed. The Three are hidden still. But that no longer troubles him. He only needs the One; for he made that Ring himself, it is his, and he let a great part of his own former power pass into it, so that he could rule all the others. If he recovers it, then he will command them all again, wherever they be, even the Three, and all that has been wrought with them will be laid bare, and he will be stronger than ever.

“And this is the dreadful chance. He believed that the One had perished; that the Elves had destroyed it, as should have been done. But he knows now that it has  _ not  _ perished, that it has been found. So he is seeking it, seeking it, and all his thought is bent on it. It is his great hope and our great fear.”

“Why wasn’t it destroyed?” cried Frodo. “And how did the Enemy ever come to lose it, if he was so strong, and it was so precious to him?” The Doctor saw Frodo clutch the Ring in his hand tightly.

“It was taken from him,” said Gandalf. “The strength of the Elves to resist him was greater long ago; and not all Men were estranged from them. The Men of Westernesse came to their aid. That is a chapter of ancient history which it might be good to recall; for there was sorrow then too, and gathering dark, but great valour, and great deeds that were not wholly vain. One day, perhaps, I will tell you all the tale, or you shall hear it told in fully one who knows it best.

“But for the moment, since most of all you need to know how this thing came to you, and that will be tale enough, this is all that I will say. It was Gil-galad, Elven King and Elendil of Westernesse who overthrew Sauron, although they themselves perished in the deed, and Isildur Elendil’s song cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand and took it for his own. Then Sauron was vanquished and his spirit fled and was hidden for long years, until his shadow took shape again in Mirkwood.

“But the Ring was lost. It fell into the Great River, Anduin, and vanished. For Isildur was marching north along the east banks of the River, and near the Gladden Fields he was waylaid by the Orcs of the Mountains, and almost all his folk were slain. He leapt into the waters, but the Ring slipped from his fingers as he swam, and then the Orcs saw him and killed him with arrows.”

Gandalf paused. “And there in the dark pools amid the Gladden Fields,” he said, “The Ring passed out of knowledge and legend, and even so much of its history is now known only to a few, and the Council of the Wise could discover no more. But at last I can carry on the story, I think.

“Long after, but still very long ago, there lived by the banks of the Great River on the edge of Wilderland a clever-handed and quiet-footed little people. I guess they were of hobbit-kind; akin to the fathers of the fathers of the Stoors, for they loved the River, and often swam in it, or made little boats of reeds. There was among them, a family of high repute, for it was large and wealthier than most, and it was ruled by a grandmother of the folk, stern and wise in old lore, such as they had. The most inquisitive and curious-minded of that family was called Sméagol. He was interested in roots and beginnings; he divided into deep pools; he burrowed under trees and growing plants; he tunnelled into green mounds, and he ceased to look up at the hill-tops or the leaves on the trees, or the flowers opening in the air. His head and eyes were downwards.

“He had a friend called Déagol, of similar sort, sharper-eyed, but not so quick and strong. On a time they took a boat and went down to the Gladden Fields where there were great beds of iris and flowering reeds. There, Sméagol got out and went nosing about the bans, but Déagol sat in the boat and fished. Suddenly, a great fish took his hook, and before he knew where he was, he was dragged out and down into the water, to the bottom. Then he let go of his line, for he thought he saw something shining in the river bed and, holding his breath, he grabbed at it.

“Then, he came up, spluttering with weeds in his hair and a handful of mud, and he swam to the bank. And behold! When he washed the mud away, there in his hand lay a beautiful golden ring, and it shone and glittered in the sun, so that his heart was glad. But Sméagol had been watching him from behind a tree, and as Déagol gloated over the ring, Sméagol came softly up behind.

“‘Give us that, Déagol, my love,’ said Sméagol, over his friend’s shoulder.

“‘Why?’ said Déagol.

“‘Because it’s my birthday, my love, and I wants it,’ said Sméagol.

“‘I don’t care,’ said Déagol. ‘I have given you a present already, more than I could afford. I found this, and I am going to keep it.’

“‘Oh, you are indeed, my love,’ said Sméagol, and he caught Déagol by the throat and strangled him, because the gold looked so bright and beautiful. Then, he put the ring on his finger.

“No one ever found out what had become of Déagol, as he was murdered far from home, and his body was cunningly hidden. But Sméagol returned alone, and he found that none of his family could see him when he was wearing the ring. He was very pleased with his discovery and he concealed it, and he used it to find out secrets, and he put his knowledge to crooked and malicious uses. He became sharp-eyed and keen-eared for all that was hurtful. The Ring had given him power according to his stature. It is not to be wondered at that he became very unpopular and was shunned (when visible) by all his relations. They kicked him, and he bit their feet. He took to thieving and going about muttering to himself and gurgling in his throat. So they called him  _ Gollum,  _ and cursed him, and told him to go far away, and his grandmother, desiring peace, expelled him from the family and turned him out of her hole.

“He wandered in loneliness, weeping a little for the hardness of the world, and he journeyed up the River, until he came to a stream that flowed down from the mountains, and he went that way. He caught fish in deep pools with invisible fingers and ate them raw. One day, it was very hot and as he was bending over a pool, he felt a burning on the back of his head, and a dazzling light from the water pained his wet eyes. He wondered at it, for he had almost forgotten about the sun. Then, for the last time, he looked up and shook his fist at her.

“But as he lowered his eyes, he saw, far ahead, the tops of the Misty Mountains, out of which the stream came. And he thought suddenly: ‘It would be cool and shady under those mountains. The sun could not watch me there. The roots of those mountains must be roots indeed; there must be great secrets buried there which have not been discovered since the beginning.’

“So he journeyed by night up into the highlands, and he found a little cave out of which the dark stream ran, and he wormed his way, like a maggot, into the heart of the hills and vanished out of all knowledge. The Ring went into the shadows with him, and even the maker, when his power had begun to grow again, could learn nothing of it.”

“Oh, Gollum…” The Doctor sighed. “I should have known.”

“You mean that this is the very Gollum-creature that you and Bilbo met?”

“Yes, indeed I do.” Gandalf said. “And I think it is a sad story, and it might have happened to others, even to some hobbits that I have known.”

“I can’t believe that Gollum was connected with hobbits, however distantly,” said Frodo. “What an abominable notion!”

“It is true all the same,” replied Gandalf. “About their origins, at any rate, I know more than hobbits do themselves. But there was something else in it, I think, which you don’t see yet. Even Gollum was not wholly ruined. He had proved tougher than even one of the Wise would have guessed – as a hobbit might. There was a little corner of his mind that was still his own, and light came through it, as through a chink in the dark: light out of the past. It was actually pleasant, I think, to hear a kindly voice again, bringing up memories of wind, trees, sun on the grass, and such forgotten things.

“But that, of course, would only make the evil part of him angrier in the end – unless it could be conquered. Unless it could be cured.” Gandalf sighed.

“And can it?” The Doctor asked.

“Alas, there is little hope of that for him.” Gandalf said, “Yet not no hope. No, not although possessed the Ring so long, almost as far back as he can remember. For it was long since he had worn it much: in the black darkness, it was seldom needed. Certainly he had never ‘faded’. He is thin and tough still. But the thing was eating up his mind, of course, and the torment had become almost unbearable.

“All the ‘great secrets’ under the mountains had turned out to be just empty night: there was nothing more to find out, nothing worth doing, only nasty furtive eating and resentful remembering. He was altogether wretched. He hated the dark, and he hated light more: he hated everything, and the Ring most of all.”

“What do you mean?” said Frodo. “Surely the Ring was his precious and the only thing he cared for? But if he hated it, why didn’t he get rid of it, or go away and leave it?”

“You ought to begin to understand, Frodo, after all you have heard,” said Gandalf. “He hated it and loved it, as he hated and loved himself. He could not get rid of it. He had no will left in the matter.”

“The Ring of Power looks after itself,” The Doctor explained. “ _ It  _ may slip off treacherously, but its keeper never abandons it. At most, they play with the idea of handing it on to someone else’s care – and that only at an early stage, when it first begins to grip.”

“But as far as I know,” Gandalf continued, “Bilbo alone in history has ever gone beyond playing and really done it. He needed all my help, too. And even so he would never have forsaken it, or cast it aside. It was not Gollum, Frodo, but the Ring itself that decided things. The Ring left  _ him. _ ”

“What, just in time to meet Bilbo?” Frodo asked. “Wouldn’t an Orc have suited it better?”

“It didn’t want Bilbo.” The Doctor realized. “It wanted me.”

“That it did.” Gandalf said, “But as you were able to resist its temptation, it chose to use Bilbo as a way to get back to its master. It had slipped from Isildur’s hand and betrayed him; then, when a chance came, it caught poor Déagol, and he was murdered; and after that, Gollum, and it devoured him. It could make no further use of him: he was too small and mean; and as long as it stayed with him, he would never leave his deep pool again. So when one of the most powerful beings in the universe came by, it abandoned Gollum, but what it didn’t expect was to be given to the most unlikely person imaginable: Bilbo from the Shire.”

“I was meant to have the Ring,” The Doctor said, “Not Bilbo, and not you, Frodo.”

“How have you learned all this about the RIng, and about Gollum? Do you really know it all, or are you just guessing still?” Frodo asked.

Gandalf looked at Frodo, his eyes glinted. “I knew much and I have learned much,” he answered. “But I am not going to give an account of all my doings to  _ you.  _ The history of Elendil and Isildur and the One Ring is known to all the Wise, as well as others, I now understand,” He looked at the Doctor, then back to Frodo. “Your Ring is shown to be that One Ring by the fire-writing alone, apart from any other evidence.”

“And when did you discover that?” Frodo asked.

“Just now in this room, of course,” answered the wizard sharply. “But I expected to find it. I have come back from dark journeys and long search to make that final test. It is the last proof, and all is now only too clear. Making out Gollum’s part and fitting it into the gap in history required some thought. I may have started with guesses about Gollum, but I am not guessing now. I know. I have seen him.”

“You’ve seen him?” The Doctor looked at Gandalf, “And how is he?”

“Yes, I have seen him. The obvious thing to do, of course, if one could. I tried long ago, but I have managed it at last. What I have told you is what Gollum was willing to tell – though not, of course, in the way I have reported it. Gollum is a liar, and you have to sift his words. For instance, he called the Ring his ‘birthday-present’, and he stuck to that. He said it came from his grandmother, who had lots of beautiful things of that kind. A ridiculous story. I have no doubt that Sméagol’s grandmother was a matriarch, a great person in her way, but to talk of her possessing many Elven rings was absurd, and as for giving them away, it was a lie. But a lie with a grain of truth.

“The murder of Déagol haunted Gollum, and he had made up a defence, repeating it to his ‘precious’ over and over again, as he gnawed bones in the dark, until he almost believed it. It  _ was  _ his birthday. Déagol ought to have given the ring to him. It had obviously turned up just so as to be a present. It  _ was  _ his birthday present, and so on, and on.

“I endured him as long as I could, but the truth was desperately important, and in the end, I had to be harsh. I put the fear of fire on him, and wrung the true story out of him, bit by bit, together with much snivelling and snarling. He thought he was misunderstood and ill-used. But when he had at last told me his history, as far as the end of the riddle-game and Bilbo and the Doctor’s escape, he would not say any more, except in dark hints. Some other fear was on him greater than mine. He muttered that he was going to get his own back. People would see if he would stand being kicked and drive into a hile and then  _ robbed _ . Gollum had good friends now, good friends and very strong. They would help him. The Doctor would pay for it. That was his chief thought: He hated the Doctor and cursed his name. What is more, he thought knew where he came from. He thought he was from the Shire.

“His longing for the Ring proved stronger than his fear of ghd Orcs, or even of the light. Bound by desire for it, he left the mountains. Since the Ring was no longer devouring him, he began to revive a little. He felt old, terribly old, yet less timid, and he was mortally hungry.

“Light, light of Sun and Moon, he still feared and hated, and he always will, I think; but he was cunning. He found he could hide from daylight and moonshine, and make his way swiftly and softly by dead of night with his pale, cold eyes, and catch small, frightened, or unwary things. He grew stronger and bolder with new food and new air. He found his way into Mirkwood, as one would expect.”

“Is that where you found him?” Frodo asked.

“I saw him there,” answered Gandalf, “But before that he had wandered far, following the Doctor's trail. It was difficult to learn anything from him for certain, for his talk was constantly interrupted by curses and threats. But from hints dropped among the snarls I gathered that his padding feet had taken him at last to Esgaroth, and even to the streets of Dale, listening secretly and peering. Well, the news of the great event went far and wide in Wilderland, and many had heard the Doctor’s name, and assumed he came from the Shire with Bilbo. We had made no secret of our return journey to Bilbo’s home in the West. Gollum’s sharp ears would soon learn what he wanted.”

“And why didn’t he track me further?” The Doctor asked, “Why didn’t he come to the Shire?”

“Ah,” said Gandalf, “Now we come to it. I think Gollum tried to. He set out and came back westward, as far as the Great River. But then he turned aside. He was not daunted by the distance, I am sure. No, something else drew him away. So my friends think, those he haunted him for me.

“The Wood-elves tracked him first, an easy task for them, for his trail was still fresh then. It led them through Mirkwood and back again, although they never caught him. The wood was full of the rumour of him, dreadful tales even among beasts and birds. The Woodmen said that there was some new terror abroad, a ghost that drank blood. It climbed trees to find nests; it crept into holes to find the young; it slipped through windows to find cradles.

“But at the western edge of Mirkwood the trail turned away. It wandered off southwards and passed out of the Wood-elves’ ken, and was lost. And then I made a great mistake. Yes, Frodo, and not the first; although I fear it may prove the worst. I let the matter be. I let him go; for I had much else to think of at that time, and I still trusted the lore of Saruman.

“Well, that was years ago. I have paid for it since with many dark and dangerous days. The trail was long cold when I took it up again after Bilbo left here. And my search would have been in vain, but for the help that I had from a friend: Aragorn, the greatest traveller and huntsman of this age of the world. Together we sought for Gollum down the whole length of Wilderland, without hope and without success. But at last, when I had given up the chase and turned to other paths, Gollum was found. My friend returned out of great perils, bringing the miserable creature with him.

“What he had been doing, he would not say. He only wept and called us cruel, with many a  _ gollum _ in his throat; and when we pressed him, he whined and cringed, and rubbed his long hands, licking his fingers as if they pained him, as if he remembered some old torture. But I am afraid there is no possible doubt: He had made his slow, sneaking way, step by step, mile by mile, south, down at last to the Land of Mordor.”

A heavy silence fell in the room. Even outside, everything seemed still. Strangely enough, the sound of Sam’s shears were no longer heard.

“Yes, to Mordor.” Sighed Gandalf. “Alas! Mordor draws all wicked things, and the Dark Power was bending all its will to gather them there. The Ring of the Enemy would leave its mark too, leave him open to the summons. And all folk were whispering then of the new Shadow in the South, and its hatred of the West. There were his fine new friends, who would help him in his revenge!

“Wretched fool! In that land he would hearn much, too much for his comfort. And sooner or later, as he lurked and pried on the borders, he would be caught and taken – for examination. That was the way of it, I fear. When he was found he had already been there long and was on his way back. On some errand of mischief. But that does not matter much now. His worst mischief was done.

“Yes, alas! Through him, the Enemy has learned that the One has been found again. He knows where Isildur fell. He knows where Gollum found his ring. He knows that it is a Great Ring, for it gave long life. He knows that it is not one of the Three, for they have never been lost, and they endure no evil. He knows that it is not one of the Seven, or the Nine, for they are accounted for. He knows that it is the One. And he has at last heard, I think, of  _ hobbits _ and the  _ Shire _ .

“The Shire – he may be seeking for it now, if he has not already found out where it lies.”

“But this is terrible!” cried Frodo. “Far worse than the worst that I imagined! Oh Gandalf, what am I to do? For now I am really afraid. What am I to do? What a pity that neither Bilbo nor the Doctor did not stab that vile creature!”

“No.” The Doctor said firmly. “You can’t just kill your enemies. And if you were to meet him, you would feel pity. He is just an animal like you or I.”

“I am sorry.” Frodo said, “But I am frightened, and I do not feel any pity for Gollum.”

“You have never seen him.” The Doctor said.

“No, and I don’t want to,” said Frodo. “I can’t understand you. Do you mean to say, Gandalf, that you and the Elves have let him live on after all those horrible deeds? Now, at any rate, he is as bad as an Orc, and just an enemy. He deserves death.”  
“Deserves it? No one deserves death.” The Doctor said, “Not even the foulest of Orcs.”

“And the Daleks?” Frodo asked, for the Doctor had told him the tale on one of the many days they spent together.

The Doctor froze. He did not know what to say, but thankfully, Gandalf stepped in.

“Many that live deserve death.” Gandalf said. “Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it. And he is bound up with the fate of the Ring. My heart tells me that he has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before its end; and when that comes, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many – yours not least. In any case we did not kill him: he is very old and very wretched. The Wood-elves have him in prison, but they treat him with such kindness as they can find in their wise hearts.”

“All the same,” said Frodo, “Even if the Doctor and Bilbo could not kill Gollum, I wish they had not kept the Ring. I wish they had never found it, and that I had not got it! Why did you let me keep it? Why didn’t you make me throw it away or, or destroy it?”

“Let you? Make you?” said the wizard. “Haven’t you been listening to all that I have said? You are not thinking of what you are saying. But as for throwing it away, that was obviously wrong. These Rings have a way of being found. In evil hands it might have done great evil. Worst of all, it might have fallen into the hands of the Enemy. Indeed, it certainly would; for this is the One, and he is exerting all his power to find it or draw it to him.

“Of course, my dear Frodo, it was dangerous for you, and that has troubled me deeply. But there was so much at stake that I had to take some risks – although even when I was far away, there has never been a day when the Shire has not been guarded by watchful eyes. Not to mention, the Doctor has been here to watch over you. As long as you never used it, I did not think that the Ring would have any lasting effect on you, not for evil, not at any rate for a long time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The Doctor demanded. His voice was quiet, but held, mighty and strong. “If you had said, or even hinted at it! I could have –”

“Taken it for yourself?” The Doctor stared at Gandalf.

“How dare –”

“You would have taken it to protect Frodo.” Gandalf said. “But what would have happened to you? An all-powerful Time Lord, twisted and corrupted.” The Doctor was quiet.

“But if it would save Frodo –”

“Perhaps from the Ring, but not from you.”

There was a long silence, the Doctor finally looked defeated.

“But why can’t we destroy it, as you said should have been done long ago?” asked Frodo. “If you had warned me…”

“Would you? How would you do that? Have you ever tried?”

“No,” Frodo admitted. “But I suppose one could hammer it or melt it.”

“Try!” Gandalf said, “Try now!”

Frodo drew the Ring out of his pocket again and looked at it. It now appeared plain and smooth, without mark or device that could be seen. The gold looked quite fair and pure for an Earth metal, well, for most metal…In fact, it was quite flawless. Its colour was rich and beautiful, and its roundness was near-perfect,  _ very  _ nearly. At this time, a perfect circle was impossible. Yet, it looked perfect. It was an admirable thing and altogether precious.

Then, Frodo placed it back in his pocket, looking at Gandalf with big, scared eyes.

“You see?” Gandalf laughed grimly. “Already you too, Frodo, can not easily let it go, nor will damage it. And I could not ‘make’ you – except by force, which would break your mind. But as for breaking the Ring, force is useless. Even if you took it and struck it with a heavy sledge-hammer, it would make no dent in it. It cannot be unmade by your hands, nor mine.

“Your small fire, of course, would not melt even ordinary gold. This Ring has already passed through it unscathed, and even unheated. But there is no smith’s forge in this Shire that could change it at all. Not even the anvils and furnaces of the Dwarves could do that. It has been said that dragon-fire could melt and consume the Rings of Power, but there is not now any dragon left on earth in which the old fire is hot enough, nor was there ever any dragon, not even Ancalagon the Black, who could have harmed the One Ring, the Ruling Ring, for that was made by Sauron himself.”

“Right, you’ve made your point.” The Doctor said, “But there is a way to destroy it, everything can be destroyed with the right resources.”

“There is only one way.” Gandalf said. “The Cracks of Doom in the depths of Orodruin, the Fire-mountain, and cast the Ring in there, if you really wish to destroy it, to put it beyond the grasp of the Enemy forever.”

“I do really wish to destroy it!” Cried Frodo, “Or, well, to have it destroyed. I am not made for perilous quests. I wish I had never seen the Ring! Why did it come to me? Why was I chosen?”

“Such questions cannot be answered,” said Gandalf. “You may be sure that it was not for any merit that others do not possess: not for power or wisdom, at any rate. But you have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits you have.”

“But I have so little of any of those things!” Frodo insisted. “You are wise and powerful. Will you not take the Ring?”

“No!” Cried Gandalf, springing to his feet. “With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly. Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself! Neither shall you tempt the Doctor! He must stay away, for he would be more great and terrible than Sauron himself! The Ring has a way to the heart by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good. I dare not take it, not even to keep it safe, unused. The wish to wield it would be too great for my strength. I shall have such need of it. Great perils lie before me.”

He went on to the window and drew aside the curtains and shutters. Sunlight streamed back again into the room. Sam passed along the path outside, whistling. “And now,” said the wizard, turning back to Frodo, “The decision lies with you. But I will always help you, as I assume the Doctor will too.” he laid his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “We will help you bear this burden, as long as it is yours to bear. But we must do something soon. The Enemy is moving.”

There was a long silence. Gandalf sat down again and puffed at his pipe, as if lost in thought. His eyes seemed closed, but the Doctor could tell that he was watching Frodo intently. Frodo gazed fixedly at the red embers on the hearth. The Doctor ran anxious hands through his messy hair. 

“Well!” Gandalf said at last. “What are you thinking about? Have you decided what to do?”

“No!” Answered Frodo, seeming to come back to himself. “Or perhaps yes. As far as I understand what has been said, I suppose I must keep the Ring and guard it, at least for the present, whatever it may do to me.”

The Doctor looked down at the floor. He couldn’t let Frodo do this to himself…

“What if I were to take it and lock myself in the TARDIS so I couldn’t get out. I’d be trapped for all eternity.”

“No.” Frodo said. “This is my destiny.”

“Whatever it may do, it will be slow, slow to evil, if you keep it with that purpose.” said Gandalf.

“I hope so,” said Frodo. “But I hope that you may find some other better keeper sooner. But in the meanwhile it seems that I am a danger, a danger to all that live near me. I cannot keep the Ring and stay here. I ought to leave Bag End, leave the Shire, leave everything and go away.” He sighed. 

“I should like to save the Shire, if I could – although there have been times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them. But I don’t feel like that now. I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.

“Of course, I have sometimes thought of going away, but I imagined that as a kind of holiday, a series of adventures like Bilbo’s or better, ending in peace. But this would mean exile, a flight from danger into danger, drawing it after me. And I suppose I must go alone, if I am to do that and save the Shire. But I feel very small and very uprooted as well as desperate. The Enemy is so strong and terrible.”

“Once the TARDIS has healed herself again, you are welcome to join me on my journeys,” The Doctor said, “Or even to find you another quiet village to live in. And I will come with you. We can save the Shire together. You needn't do this alone.”

“Bilbo made no mistake in choosing his heir,” Gandalf said, “although he little thought how important it would prove. I am afraid you are right. The Ring will not be able to stay hidden in the Shire much longer, and for you own sake, as well as for others, you will have to go, and leave the name of Baggins behind you. That name will not be safe to have, outside the Shire or in the Wild. I will give you a travelling name now. When you go, go as Mr. Underhill.

“But I don’t think you need go alone.” Gandalf said, nodding to the Doctor. “Not if you know anyone you can trust, and who would be willing to go by your side, a third to the party. Three is a very lucky number, you know. But if you look for a third companion, be careful in choosing! And be careful of what you say, even to your closest friends! The enemy has many spies and many ways of hearing.” 

Suddenly, Gandalf stopped as if listening. The Doctor realized that all was quiet, both inside and outside. Gandalf was creeping towards one side of the window. Then, with a dart, he sprang to the sill and thrust a long arm out and downwards. There was a squawk, and up came Sam Gamgee’s curly head, hauled by one ear.

“Well, well, bless my beard!” said Gandalf. “Sam Gamgee, is it? Now what may you be doing?”

“Lor bless you, Mr. Gandalf, sir!” said Sam. “Nothing! Leastways I was just trimming the grass-border under the window, if you follow me.” He picked up his shears and exhibited them as evidence.

“I don’t.” Said Gandalf grimly. “It is some time since I last heard the sound of your shears. How long have you been eavesdropping?”

“Eavesdropping sir? I don’t follow you, begging your pardon. There ain’t no eves at Bag End, and that’s a fact.”

“You’re not in trouble, Sam.” The Doctor smiled kindly, trying to quell Gandalf’s rage at the same time.

“Don’t be a fool!” Gandalf shouted. “What have you heard, and why did you listen?”

“Doctor!” cried Sam, quaking, “Don’t let him hurt me, sir! Don’t let him turn me into anything unnatural! My old dad would take on so. I meant no harm, on my honour, sir.”

“He won’t hurt you.” The Doctor assured Sam, “Just tell us what of the conversation you heard.”

“Well, sir,” said Sam dithering a little and addressing Gandalf, “I heard a deal that I didn’t rightly understand, about an enemy, and rings, and Mr. Bilbo, sir, and dragons, and a fiery mountain, and – and Elves, sir. I listened because I couldn’t help myself, if you know what I mean. Lor bless me, sir, but I do love tales of that sort. And I believe them too, whatever Ted may say. Elves, sir! I would dearly love to see  _ them.  _ Couldn’t you take me to see Elves, sir, when you go?”

Gandalf smiled, laughed, and shouted, “Come inside!” putting out both his arms as he lifted the astonished Sam, shears, grass-clippings, and all, right through the window and stood him on the floor. “Take you to see Elves, eh?” He said, eyeing Sam closely, but with a smile flickering on his face. “So you heard that Mr. Frodo and the Doctor are going away?”

“I did, sir. And that’s why I choked: which you heard seemingly. I tried not to, sir, but it burst out of me: I was so upset.”

“It can’t be helped, Sam.” said Frodo sadly. “I shall have to go. But if you really care about me, you will keep that  _ dead  _ secret. See? If you don’t if you even breathe a word of what you’ve heard here, then I hope Gandalf will turn you into a spotted toad and fill the garden full of grass-snakes.”

Sam fell on his knees, trembling. “Get up, Sam!” said Gandalf. “I have thought of something better than that. Something to shut your mouth and punish you properly for listening. You shall go away with Mr. Frodo and the Doctor!”

“Me, sir!” cried Sam, springing up. “Me, go and see Elves and all! Hooray!” he shouted and then burst into tears.


	4. Four Is A Company

“You ought to go quietly and you ought to go soon,” said Gandalf. Two or three weeks had passed and the Doctor had been hoping that the TARDIS would be ready. While she had been healed for a long time, she refused to move. Something was keeping her from leaving. After a few scans and a long, unhelpful conversation, it became quite clear that to have the Ring aboard would cause detrimental results.

“I know,” Frodo said, “But it is difficult to do both. If I just vanish like Bilbo, the tale will be all over the Shire in no time.”

“Of course you mustn’t vanish!” said Gandalf. “That wouldn’t do at all! I said  _ soon,  _ not  _ instantly.  _ If you can think of any way of slipping out of the Shire without its being generally known, it will be worth a little delay. But you must not delay too long.”

“What about the autumn, on or after Our Birthday?” asked Frodo. “I think I could probably make some arrangements by then.”

Gandalf smiled. “Very well, I think that will do – but it must not be any later. I am getting very anxious. In the meanwhile, do take care, and don’t let out any hint of where you are going! And see that Sam Gamgee does not talk. If he does, I really shall turn him into a toad.”

“As for  _ where  _ we are going,” said Frodo, “It would be difficult to give that away, for I had no clear idea myself, yet.”

“Don’t be absurd!” said Gandalf. “I am not warning you against leaving an address at the post-office! But you are leaving the Shire – and that should not be known, until you are far away. And you must go, or at least set out, either North, South, West, or East – and the direction should certainly not be known.”

“We have been so taken up with the thoughts of leaving Bag End and of saying farewell, that we have not yet considered the direction.” said Frodo. “From where are we to go? And by what shall we steer? What is to be our quest? Bilbo went to find a treasure, there and back again; but we go to lose one, and not return as far as I can see.”

“But you cannot see very far,” said Gandalf. “Neither can the Doctor, and neither can I. It may be your task to find the Cracks of Doom; but that quest may be for others: I do not know. At any rate, you are not ready for that long road yet.”

“No indeed!” said Frodo. “But in the meantime what course are we to take.”

“Towards danger, but not too rashly, nor too straight,” answered the wizard. “If you want my advice, make for Rivendell. That journey should not prove too perilous, through the Road is less easy than it was, and it will grow worse as the year fails.”

“Rivendell.” The Doctor said, “Brilliant. We’ll head east and make for Rivendell so Sam can visit the Elves.”

One summer’s evening, an astonishing piece of news reached the  _ Ivy Bush  _ and  _ Green Dragon. _ Giants and other portents on the borders of the Shire were forgotten for more important matters: Mr. Frodo was selling Bag End, indeed he had already sold it – to the Sackville-Bagginses.”

As to why Mr. Frodo was selling his beautiful hole was even more debatable than the price. A few held the theory – supported by the Doctor and Frodo themselves – that Frodo’s money was running out: He was going to leave Hobbiton with the Doctor and live in a quiet way on the proceeds of the sale a long ways away in the Doctor’s village (for the only one he had told about the destruction of Gallifrey was Frodo).

“Yes, we shall be moving this autumn.” They had said. “We will live by the Doctor’s family, it will be nice for him to be closer to home.”

Gandalf stayed in the Shire for over two months, then one evening, at the end of June, soon after the plan had been finally arranged, he suddenly announced that he was going off again the next morning. “Only for a short while, I hope,” he said. “But I am going down beyond the southern borders to get some news, if I can. I have been idle longer than I should.” He spoke lightly, but the Doctor could see the worry in his eyes. 

“Has anything happened as of yet?”

“Well, no,” Gandalf said, “But I have heard something that has made me anxious and needs looking into. If I think it necessary after all for you to get off at once, I shall come back immediately, or at least send word. In the meanwhile, stick to your plan, but be more careful than ever, especially of the Ring. Let me impress on you once more:  _ don’t use it!” _

Gandalf was off at dawn. “I may be back any day,” he said, “A the very least I shall come back for the farewell party. I think after all you may need my company on the Road.”

Autumn was well under way before the Doctor and Frodo grew concerned about Gandalf again. September was passing and there was still no news of him. The Birthday, and the removal, drew nearer, and still he did not come, or send word. Bag End began to be busy. Some of Frodo’s friends came to stay and help him with the packing: there was Fredegar Bolger and Folco Boffin, and of course Frodo’s special friends (the Doctor’s favorite of Frodo’s friends), Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck. Between them, they turned the whole place upside-down.

On September 20th, all the furniture and goods that Frodo had not sold were packed in the TARDIS. The next day, the Doctor noticed Frodo become really anxious, and kept a constant look-out for Gandalf. Thursday, Frodo’s birthday morning, dawned as fair and clear as it had long ago for Bilbo’s great party. Still, Gandalf did not appear. In the evening, Frodo and the Doctor gave their farewell feast: it was quite small, just a dinner for themselves and their four helpers; but Frodo seemed troubled and clearly felt in no mood for it. 

The four younger hobbits, however, were in high spirits, and the party soon became very cheerful in spite of Gandalf’s absence. The dining room was bare except for a table and chairs, but the food was good, and there was good wine: Frodo’s wine had not been included in his sale to the Sackville-Bagginses.

“Whatever happens to the rest of my stuff when the Sackville-Bagginses get their claws on it, at any rate, I have found a good home for this!” said Frodo as he drained his glass. It was the last drop of Old Winyards.

When they had sung many songs and spoke of many things they had done together, they toasted to Bilbo’s birthday and they drank to his health as well as Frodo’s together according to Frodo’s custom. Then, they went out for a sniff of air and a glimpse of the stars, and then they went off the bed. Frodo’s party was over and Gandalf had not come.

The next morning, they packed the remainder of Frodo’s luggage. Merry and Fatty (Fredegar Bolger) carried the last of it off, but Pippin remained behind. Frodo looked restless and anxious, listening in vain for the sound of Gandalf. The Doctor was not so concerned, for he could lead the hobbits to Rivendell if Gandalf did not arrive before nightfall. 

After lunch, the Sackville-Bagginses, Lobelia and her sandy-haired son, Lotho, turned up, much to Frodo and the Doctor’s annoyance. 

“Ours at last!” said Lobelia, as she stepped aside. It was not polite, nor strictly true, for the sale of Bag End did not take effect until midnight. But Lobelia could be forgiven, for she had been obligated to wait about seventy-seven years longer for Bag End than she had once hoped, and she was now a hundred years old. Anyway, she had come to see what nothing she had paid for had been carried off, and she wanted the keys. It took a long while to satisfy her, as she had brought a complete inventory with her and went through it. In the end, she departed with Lotho and the spare key and the promise that the other key would be left at the Gamgees’ in Bagshot Row. She snorted, and showed plainly that she thought the Gamgees capable of plundering the hole during the night. Neither Frodo nor the Doctor offered her any tea.

Frodo took his own tea with the Doctor, Pippin, and Sam Gamgee in the kitchen. It had been officially announced that Sam was coming to the far away land of Gallifrey with the Doctor and Frodo to ‘do for Mr. Frodo and the Doctor and look after their bit of garden,’ an arrangement that was approved by the Gaffer, although it did not console him for the prospect of having Lobelia as a neighbour.

“Our last meal at Bag End!” said Frodo, pushing back his chair. Pippin and Sam strapped up their three packs and piled them in the porch. Pippin went out for a last stroll in the garden. Sam disappeared.

The sun went down. Bag End seemed sad and gloomy and dishevelled. The Doctor had managed to convince the TARDIS to move to Rivendell, where she would stay until their quest was over. Once the Ring was gone, it would be safe to travel freely once again. 

Frodo and the Doctor wandered the round and familiar rooms, and saw the light of the sunset fade on the walls, the shadows crept out of the corners and it grew slowly dark indoors. They went out and walked down to the gate at the bottom of the path, and then on a short way down the Hill Road.

The sky was clear and the stars were growing bright. “It’s going to be a fine night.” Frodo said. “That’s good for a beginning. I feel like walking. I can’t bear any more hanging about. We should start, and Gandalf must follow us.”

The Doctor hummed in agreement, and they turned to go back, and then stopped, for they heard voices, just around the corner by the end of Bagshot Row. One voice was certainly the old Gaffer’s, and the other was strange, and somehow unpleasant. They could not quite make out what was said, for hobbit ears were quite as keen as Time Lord ones, but they could hear Gaffer’s answers, which were rather shrill. The old man seemed put out.

“No, Mr. Baggins and Mr. Doctor have gone away. Went this morning, and my Sam went with them: anyway, all his stuff went. Yes, sold out and gone. I tell’ee. Why? Why’s none of my business, or yours? Where to? That ain’t no secret. They’ve moved to Gallifrey. Where’s that? I don’t really know myself. Some far-off land where the Doctor’s from. No, I can’t give no message. Good night to you!”

Footsteps went away down the Hill. “I’m sick of questions and curiosity about our doings.” Frodo sighed.

“Come on, let’s get back to Bag End.” The Doctor sighed.

Pippin was sitting on the back on the porch. Sam was not there. The Doctor stepped inside the dark door. “Sam!” He called. “Sam!”

“Coming, sir!” came the answer from far within, followed soon by Sam himself, wiping his mouth. He had been saying farewell to the beer-barrel in the cellar.

“What did I say about calling me sir?”

“Sorry, s – Doctor. Sorry, Doctor.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, I’ll last for a bit now, sir.”

Frodo shut and locked the round door and gave the key to Sam. “Run down with this to your home, Sam.” Frodo said. “Then cut along the Row and meet us as quickly as you can at the gate in the lane beyond the meadows. We are not going through the village tonight. Too many ears pricking and eyes prying.” Sam ran off at full speed.

“Well, now we’re off at last.” Frodo said. They shouldered their packs and took up their sticks and walked around the corner to the west side of the Bag End. “Goodbye!” Frodo and the Doctor waved their hands and then turned as Pippin joined their side. He would accompany them and they would later meet up with Merry. The Doctor, Pippin, and Frodo turned and hurried down the garden path. They jumped over the low place in the hedge at the bottom and took to the fields, passing into the darkness like a rustle in the grass. 

At the bottom of the Hill on its western side, they came to the gate opening on to a narrow lane. There, they halted and adjusted the straps of their packs. Presently, Sam appeared, trotting quickly and breathing hard; his heavy pack was hoisted high on his shoulders, and he had put on his head a tall shapeless felt bag, which he called a hat. In the gloom, he looked very much like a dwarf.

The Doctor carried most of the heaviest stuff, but Frodo, Pippin, and Sam still certainly carried their weight. 

For a short way they followed the lane westwards. Then leaving it they turned left and took quietly to the fields again. They went in single file along hedgerows and the borders of coppices, and night fell dark about them. In their dark cloaks they were invisible, and since they were all hobbits or Time Lords and were trying to be silent, they made no noise that even hobbits would hear. Even the wild things in the fields and woods hardly noticed their passing.

After some time, they crossed the water, west of Hobbiton, by a narrow plank-bridge. The stream was there no more than a winding black ribbon, bordered with learning alder-trees. A mile or two south, they hastily crossed the great road from the Brandywine Bridge; they were now in the Tookland and bending south-eastwards and they made for the Green Hill Country. As they began to climb its first slopes they looked back and saw the lamps of Hobbiton far off, twinkling in the gentle valley of the Water. Soon, it disappeared in the folds of the darkened land and was followed by Bywater beside its grey pool. When the light of the last farm was far behind, peeping among the trees, Frodo turned and waved a hand in farewell.

“I wonder if I shall ever look down in that valley again.” He said quietly.

“When we’re done,” The Doctor promised, “I can take you back as often as you want.”

When they had walked for about three hours, they rested. The night was clear, cool, and starry, but smoke-like wisps of mists were creeping up the hill-sides from the streams and deep meadows. Thin-clad birches, swaying in a light wind above their heads, made a black net against the pale sky. They ate a very frugal supper (for hobbits), and then went on again. Soon, they struck a narrow road, that went rolling up and down, fading grey into the darkness ahead: the road to Woodhall and Stock, and the Bucklebury Ferry. It climbed away from the main road in the Water-valley, and wound over the skirts of the Green Hills towards Woody End, a wild corner of the Eastfarthing.

After a while they plunged into a deeply cloven track between tall trees that rustled their dry leaves in the night. It was very dark. The Doctor told stories as they walked, Sam was absolutely fascinated by the far away places, specifically about other planets. 

Pippin soon began to lag behind. At last, as they began to climb a steep slope, he stopped and yawned.

“I am so sleepy,” he said, “that soon I shall fall down on the road. Are you going to sleep on your legs? It is nearly midnight.” 

“I thought you liked walking in the dark.” Frodo said, “But there is no great hurry. Merry expects us some time the day after tomorrow, but that leaves us nearly two days more. We’ll halt at the first likely spot.”

“The wind’s in the west,” said Sam. “If we get to the other side of this hill, we shall find a spot that is sheltered and snug enough, sir. There is a dry fir-wood just ahead, if I remember rightly.” 

“Brilliant, Sam.” The Doctor grinned.

Just over the top of the hill, they came on the patch of fir-wood. Leaving the road, they went into the deep resin-scented darkness of the trees, and gathered dead sticks and cones to make a fire. Soon, they had a merry crackle of flame at the foot of a large fir-tree and they sat around it for a while until the hobbits began to nod off. The Doctor, who had yet to need sleep, kept watch, though was unconcerned, as they were still in the heart of the Shire. Few animals came by, and those who did, stopped momentarily, watching the Doctor stoke the fire, then scurried back to whatever business they were on.

The morning came, pale and clammy. Frodo was the first of the hobbits to wake to the smell of the Doctor cooking breakfast.

“Morning Frodo.” The Doctor grinned.

“‘Morning.” Frodo croaked, rubbing his stiff neck. “Wake up hobbits!” He called to Pippin and Sam, “It’s a beautiful morning.”

“What’s beautiful about it?” asked Pippin, peering over the edge of his blanket with one eye. “Sam! Get breakfast ready for half-past nine! Have you got the bath-water hot?”

Sam jumped up, looking rather bleary. “No, sir, I haven’t, sir!”

“Don’t worry about it,” The Doctor said, “I’ve got breakfast going, if you’d like, you can finish whilst I fetch water.”

“Yes, sir – er – Doctor. Yes, Doctor.”

“Brilliant.” The Doctor got up. 

“I’ll come too,” Frodo said, “We’ll bring all the water-bottles.”

There was a stream at the foot of the hill. There, they filled their bottles and splashed themselves with the icy water as they bathed their faces and hands. 

When their breakfast was over and their packs all trussed up again, it was after ten o’clock, and the day was beginning to turn fine and hot. They went down the slope and across the stream where it dived under the road, and up the next slope, and up and down another shoulder of the hills; and by that time, the hobbits began to complain that their cloaks, blankets, water, food, and other gear already seemed a heavy burden.

The day’s march promised to be warm and tiring work. After some miles, however, the road ceased to roll up and down: it climbed to the top of a steep bank in a weary zig-zagging sort of way, and then prepared to go down for the last time. In front of them, they saw the lower lands, dotted with small clumps of trees that melted away in the distance to a brown woodland haze. They were looking across the Woody End towards the Brandywine River. The road wound away before them like a piece of string.

“The road goes on forever,” said Pippin, “But I can’t without a rest. It is high time for lunch.” He sat down on the bank at the side of the road and looked away east into the haze, beyond which lay the River, and the end of the Shire in which he had spent all his life. Sam stood by him, his round eyes now wide open – for he was looking across lands he had never seen to a new horizon.

“Do Elves live in those woods?” He asked.

“No.” The Doctor said, just as Pippin said, “Not that I ever heard.” Frodo was silent. He too was gazing eastward along the road, as if he had never seen it before. Suddenly, he spoke, aloud, but to himself:

_ “The Road goes ever on and on _

_ Down from the door where it began. _

_ Now far ahead the Road has gone, _

_ And I must follow, if I can, _

_ Pursuing it with weary feet, _

_ Until it joins some larger way, _

_ Where many paths and errands meet. _

_ And whither then? I cannot say.” _

“That sounds like a bit of old Bilbo’s rhyming.” said Pippin. “Or is it one of your imitations? It does not sound altogether encouraging.”

“I don’t know,” said Frodo. “It came to me then, as if I was making it up; but I may have heard it long ago. Certainly, it reminds me very much of Bilbo in the last years, before he went away. He often used to say there was only one road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. ‘It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,’ he used to say. ‘You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountain or even further and to worse places?’ He used to say that on the path outside the front door at Bag End, especially after he had been out for a long walk.”

“Sometimes,” The Doctor said thoughtfully, “The best thing that can happen to you is to be swept away, Frodo. Because the Road is big. The Road is beautiful, and if you travel through it, you can see the most amazing things, go the most amazing places, meet the most amazing people. But at the end of the day, the Road can always take you back home.”

“Well, the Road won’t sweep me anywhere for an hour at least,” said Pippin, unslinging his pack. The others followed his example, putting their packs against the bank and their legs out into the road. After a rest they had a good lunch, and then more rest.

The sun was beginning to get low and the light of the afternoon was on the land as they went down the hill. So far, they had not met a soul on the road. This way was not much used, being hardly fit for carts, and there was little traffic to the Woody End. They had been jogging along again for an hour or more (the Doctor had been walking, as he had significantly longer strides than the hobbits) when the Doctor paused, listening. They were now on level ground, and the road, after much winding, lay straight ahead through grassland sprinkled with tall trees, outliers of the approaching wood.

“I can hear a pony or horse coming along the road behind.” The Doctor said, “With any luck, Gandalf will have decided to be of use after all.”

“Doctor, do you not like Gandalf?” Pippin asked.

“I don’t dislike him,” The Doctor sighed, “He can just be frustrating.”

“It may not matter much,” Frodo said, “But I would rather not be seen on the road – by anyone. I am sick of my doings being noticed and discussed. And if it is Gandalf,” he added as an afterthought, “we can give him a little surprise, to pay him out for being so late. Let’s get out of sight.”

The four of them quickly ran to the left and down into a little hollow not far from the road. There, they lay flat. Hoofs drew nearer, and the Doctor peered cautiously above one of the great roots of the tree.

Around the corner came a black horse, no hobbit-pony, but a full-sized horse, and on it sat a large man, who seemed to crouch in the saddle, wrapping in a great black cloak and hood, so that only his boots in the high stirrups shown below; his face was shadowed and invisible.

When it reached the tree and was level with the Doctor, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin, the horse stopped. The riding figure sat quite still with its head bowed, as if listening. From inside the hood came a noise, as if someone sniffing to catch an elusive scent; the head turned from side to side of the road.

The Doctor turned to Frodo, his hand was rising to the ring on the chain around his neck. The Doctor grabbed it, silently pinning it down. At that moment, the rider sat up and shook the reins. The horse stepped forwards, walking slowly at first, and then breaking into a quick trot.

The four of them emerged from their hiding spot.

“What were you thinking?” The Doctor hissed.

“I dunno, I just thought that if I touched it – I’m still in the Shire anyways – and maybe I’d be safe – who was he? He didn’t seem nice –”

“Don’t touch it.” The Doctor growled. 

“Well, I call that very odd and indeed disturbing.” Pippin said. “What has one of the Big People got to do with us? And what is he doing in this part of the world? Has this something to do with you, Doctor?”

“I don’t think so…” The Doctor said thoughtfully.

“Begging your pardon,” put in Sam suddenly, “I know where he comes from. It’s from Hobbiton that this here black rider comes, unless there’s more than one. And I know where he’s going to.”

“What?” The Doctor looked at Sam, “How?”

“I only just remembered. It was like this: when I got back to our hole yesterday evening with the key, my dad, he says to me:  _ ‘Hallo, Sam!’  _ he says.  _ ‘I thought you were away with Mr. Frodo this morning. There’s been a strange customer asking for Mr. Baggins of BagEnd, and he’s only just gone. I’ve sent him on to Bucklebury. Not that I liked the sound of him. He seemed mighty put out when I told him Mr. Baggins had left his old home for good. Hissed at me, he did. It gave me quite a shudder.’ ‘What sort of fellow was he?’  _ says I to the Gaffer.  _ ‘I don’t know,’  _ says he;  _ ‘but he wasn’t a hobbit. He was tall and black-like, and he stooped over me. I reckon it was one of the Big Folk from foreign parts. He spoke funny.’ _

“I couldn’t say to hear more, since you were waiting; and I didn’t give much heed to it myself. The Gaffer is getting old, and more than a bit blind, and it must have been near dark when this fellow came up the Hill and found him talking to the air at the end of our Row. I hope he hasn’t done no harm, sir, nor me.”

“The Gaffer can’t be blamed anyway,” said Frodo. “As a matter of fact, the Doctor and I heard him talking to a stranger, who seemed to be inquiring for us, and we nearly went and asked him who it was. I wish we had, or you had told me about it before. I might have been more careful on the road.”

“Still, there may be no connection between this rider and the Gaffer’s stranger,” said Pippin optimistically. “We left Hobbiton secretly enough, and I don’t see how he could have followed us.”

“What about the _ smelling,  _ sir?” Sam asked. “And the Gaffer said he was a black chap.”

“I’m starting to wish we had waited for Gandalf,” Frodo muttered to the Doctor. “But perhaps it would only have made matters worse.”

“Then you know or guess something about this rider?” said Pippin, who had caught the muttered words.

“I think it best not to speculate.” The Doctor said plainly.

“All right, keep your secret for the present, if you want to be mysterious. In the meanwhile, what are we to do? I should like a bite and a sup, but somehow I think we had better move on from here. This has unsettled me.”

“Yes, I think we ought to move on now,” the Doctor said, “but not on the road – in case that rider comes back, or another follows him. We ought to do a good bit more today. Buckland is still miles away.”

The shadows of the trees were long and thin on the grass as they started off again. They now kept a stone’s throw to the left of the road, and kept out of sight of it as much as they could. But this hindered them, for the grass was thick and tussocky, and the ground uneven, and the trees began to draw together into thickets. 

The sun had gone down, red behind the hills at their backs, and evening was coming on before they returned to the road at the end of the long level over which it had run straight for some miles. At that point, it bent left and went down into the lowlands of the Yale making for Stock; but a lane branched right, winding through a wood of ancient oak-trees on its way to Woodhill.

Not fat from the road-meeting, they came on the huge hulk of a tree: it was still alive and had leaves on the small branches that it had put out around the broken stumps of its long-fallen limbs; but it was hollow, and could be entered by a great crack on the side away from the road. The Doctor and the hobbits crept inside, and sat there upon a floor of old leaves and decayed wood. They rested and had a light meal, talking quietly and listening from time to time.

Twilight was about them as they crept back to the lane. The west wind was sighing in the branches. Leaves were whispering. Soon, the road began to fall gently, but steadily, into dusk. A star came out above the trees in the darkening east before them. After a time, as the stars grew thicker and brighter, the hobbits seemed to calm, and no longer listened for the sound of hooves. The Doctor pretended not to listen as well. They hobbits began to hum softly, as the Doctor had found hobbits often have a way of doing as they walk along, especially when they are drawing near to home at night. With most hobbits, it is a supper-song or a bed-song, but these hobbits hummed a walking-song. The Doctor recognized this song, as Bilbo Baggins had made the words. It was a tune that was as old as the hills and he had taught it to Frodo, who had sung it as he had walked alongside the Doctor at night. 

_ “Upon the hearth of fire red, _

_ Beneath the roof there is a bed; _

_ But not yet weary are our feet, _

_ Still round the corner we may meet _

_ A sudden tree or standing stone _

_ That none have seen but we alone. _

_ Tree and flower and leaf and grass, _

_ Let them pass! Let them pass! _

_ Hill and water under sky _

_ Pass them by! Pass them by! _

_ Still round the corner there may wait _

_ A new road or a secret gate, _

_ And though we pass them by today, _

_ Tomorrow we may come this way _

_ And take the hidden paths that run _

_ Towards the Moon or to the Sun. _

_ Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe, _

_ Let them go! Let them go! _

_ Sand and stone and pool and dell, _

_ Fare you well! Fare you well! _

_ Home is behind, the world is ahead, _

_ And there are many paths to tread _

_ Through shadows to the edge of night, _

_ Until the stars are all alight. _

_ Then world behind and home ahead, _

_ We’ll wander back to home and bed. _

_ Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, _

_ Away shall fade! Away shall fade! _

_ Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, _

_ And then to bed! And then to bed!” _

The song ended. “And  _ now  _ to bed! And  _ now  _ to bed!” sang Pippin in a high voice, when the Doctor suddenly hushed him.

“I hear hoofs again.”

Every hobbit suddenly stopped and stood as silent as tree-shadows, listening. There was a sound of hoofs in the lane, some ways behind, but coming slow and clear down the wind. Quickly and quietly, they slipped off the path and ran into the deeper shade under the oak-trees.

The hoofs drew nearer, and the Doctor sent Sam, Pippin, and Frodo behind a large tree-bole, whilst he climbed a tree and watched from atop it, wanting to see if it was another black rider. 

And indeed it was. The horse halted and the black rider dismounted, staying close to the point where they had left the path, and it swayed from side to side. He sniffed the air, then bent to the ground, crawling in the direction where Frodo, Sam, and Pippin hid.

Frodo. The Doctor could see him, his hand was moving up to the ring again. The Doctor vaguely contemplated throwing something in the other direction to distract the rider long enough to tackle the hobbit, when there suddenly came a sound like mingled song and laughter. Clear voices rose and fell in the starlit air. The black rider straightened up and retreated. It climbed on to the shadowy horse and seemed to vanish across the lane into the darkness on the other side. The Doctor dropped down from the tree.

“Frodo!” He hissed. “I told you –”

“I’m sorry, Doctor!” Frodo whispered, “I just needed to. You know? I don’t think I really knew what I was doing!” The Doctor sighed. 

“Please be careful, Frodo.”

“Elves!” Sam suddenly exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “Elves, sir!” He would have burst out of the trees and dashed off towards the voices had they not pulled him back.

“Yes, they’re Elves.” The Doctor said. “You can sometimes meet them in the Woody End. They don’t live in the Shire, but they wander into it in spring and autumn, out of their own lands away beyond the Tower Hills. And I’m glad they do. The Black Rider stopped just here –” The Doctor gestured to where the Rider had stopped, “–And was actually crawling towards you when the song began. As soon as he heard the voices, he slipped away.”

“But what about the Elves?” asked Sam, too excited to trouble about the rider. 

“Can’t we go and see them?”

“Listen, they are coming this way,” said Frodo. “We have only to wait.”

The singing drew nearer. One clear voice now above the others. It was singing in the fair elven-tongue.

_ “Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear! _

_ Oh Queen beyond the Western Seas! _

_ Oh Light to us that wander here _

_ Amid the world of woven trees! _

_ Gilthoniel! Oh Elbereth! _

_ Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath! _

_ Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee _

_ In a fair land beyond the Sea. _

_ Oh stars that in the Sunless Year _

_ With shining hand by her were sown, _

_ In windy fields now bright and clear _

_ We see your silver blossom blown! _

_ Oh Elbereth! Gilthoniel! _ _   
_ _ We still remember, we who dreww _

_ In this far land beneath the trees, _

_ Thy starlight on the Western Seas.” _

The song ended. “These are High Elves! They spoke the name of Elbereth!” said Frodo in amazement. “Few of that fairest folk are ever seen in the Shire. Not many now remain in Middle-earth, east of the Great Sea. This is indeed a strange chance!”

“You know elven?” The Doctor asked in surprise.

“I know very little, but this was very simple.” The Doctor nodded.

“Good, good.”

The hobbits sat in shadow by the wayside as the Doctor returned to the tree to function as a lookout. Before long, the Elves came down the lane towards the valley. They passed slowly, and the Doctor could see the starlight glimmering on their hair and in their eyes. They bore no lights, yet as they walked, a shimmer, like the light of the moon above the rim of the hills before it rises, seemed to fall about their feet. They were now silent, and as the last Elf passed, he turned and looked towards the hobbits and laughed. 

“Hail, Frodo!” He cried. “You are abroad late. Or are you perhaps lost?” Then he called aloud to the others, and all the company stopped and gathered round.

“This is indeed wonderful!” They said. “Three hobbits in a wood at night! We have not seen such a thing since Bilbo went away. What is the meaning of it?”

“They’re with me, actually.” The Doctor dropped from the tree. “We are simply walking among the stars. You are welcome to join us.”

“Doctor!” The elf welcome him. 

“How do you know me, then?”

“We know many things.” The Doctor laughed. “We have seen you often before with Frodo,” they gestured to Frodo, “Who we had often seen alongside Bilbo, although you may not have seen us.”

“Who are you and who is your lord?” The Doctor inquired.

“I am Gildor,” answered the leader, the Elf who had first hailed them. “Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod. We are Exiles, and most of our kindred have long ago departed and we too are now only tarrying here a while, ere we return over the Great Sea. But some of our kinsfolk dwell still in peace in Rivendell. Come now, Doctor, tell us what you are doing. For we see there is some shadow of fear upon your companions, even if you show none.”

“Oh Wise People!” interrupted Pippin eagerly. “Tell us about the Black Riders!”

“Black Riders?” They said in low voices. “Why do you ask about Black Riders?”

“Because two Black Riders have overtaken us today, or one has done so twice,” said Pippin. “Only a little while ago, he slipped away as you drew near.”

The Elves did not answer at once, but spoke together softly. At length, Gildor turned to the Doctor and the hobbits. “We will not speak of this here,” he said. “We think you had best come now with us. It is not our custom, but for this time, we will take you on our road, and you shall lodge with us tonight, if you will.”

“We would be honored.” The Doctor bowed. “‘ _ Elen sila lúmenn’ omentielvo,  _ (a star shines on the hour of our meeting).” Sam was speechless.

“Be careful friends!” cried Gildor, laughing. “Speak no secrets! Here is a scholar in the Ancient Tongue. Hail, Elf-friend!” he said, bowing to the Doctor. “Come now with your friends and join our company! You had best walk in the middle so that you may not stray. You may be weary before we halt.”

“Why? Where are you going?” asked the Doctor with curiosity.

“For tonight, we go to the woods on the hills above Woodhall. It is some miles, but you shall have rest at the end of it, and it will shorten your journey tomorrow.”

They now marched on in silence, and passed like shadows and faint lights: for Elves (even more so than hobbits) could walk when they wished without sound or footfall. Poppin soon began to feel sleepy, and staggered once or twice. The Doctor found himself putting out his arm and saving him from the fall. Sam walked between the Doctor and Frodo, as if in a dream, with an expression on his face half of fear and half of astonished joy.

The woods on either side became denser, the trees were now younger and thicker, and as the lane went lower, running down into a fold of the hills, there were many deep brakes of hazen on the rising slopes at either hand. At last, the Elves turned aside from the path. A green ride lay almost unseen through the thickets on the right, and this they followed as it wound away back up the wooded slopes on to the top of a shoulder of the hills that stood out into the lower land of the river-valley. Suddenly, they came out of the shadow of the trees, and before them lay a wide space of grass, grey under the night. On three sides, the woods pressed upon it, but eastward, the ground fell steeply and the tops of the dark trees, growing at the bottom of the slope, were below their feet. Beyond, the low lands lay dim and flat under the stars. Nearer at hand a few lights twinkled in the village of Woodhall.

The Elves sat on the grass and spoke together in soft voices; they seemed to take no further notice of the hobbits or the Doctor. The Doctor’s companions wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets, and drowsiness stole over them. The night grew on, and the lights in the valley went out. Pippin fell asleep, pillowed on a green hillock.

Away, high in the east, swing Remmirath, the Netted Stars, and slowly above the mists red Borgil rose, glowing like a jewel of fire. Then, by some shift of airs, all the mist was drawn away like a veil, and there leaned up, as he climbed over the rim of the world, the Swordsman of the Sky, Menelvagor with his shining belt. The Elves all burst into song. Suddenly, under the trees, a fire sprang up with a red light.

“Come!” The Elves called to the company, “Come! Now is the time for speech and merriment!”

“Pippin sat up and rubbed his eyes. He shivered. “There is a fire in the hall, and food for hungry guests,” said an Elf standing before them.

At the south end of the greensward, there was an opening. There, the green floor ran on into the wood, and formed a wide space like a hall, roofed by the boughs of trees. Their great trunks ran like pillars down each side. In the middle, there was a wood-fire blazing, and upon the tree-pillars, torches with lights of gold and silver were burning steadily. The Elves sat around the fire upon the grass or upon the rings of old trunks. Some went to and fro bearing cups and pouring drink; others brought food on heaped plates and dishes.

“This is poor fare,” they said to the hobbits, “For we are lodging in the greenwood far from our hills. If ever you are our guests at home, we will treat you better.” 

“This is brilliant.” The Doctor promised. 

As the others fell asleep, the Doctor found himself slipping into the elven tongue. The Elves seemed to be impressed with such knowledge, and they talked for a long time. It was only then that he noticed Frodo, still awake, but listening eagerly to the conversation, trying to drink up each word as he deciphered them.

Gesturing to Frodo, the Doctor slipped back into a tongue that Frodo could easily understand, allowing the hobbit to ask many questions, many of the happenings in the wide world outside the Shire. The tidings were mostly sad and ominous: the gathering of darkness, the wars of Men, and the flight of the Elves. At last, Frodo asked the question that was nearest to heart:

“Tell me, Gildor, have you ever seen Bilbo since he left us?”

Gildor smiled. “Yes,” he answered. “Twice. He said farewell to us on this very spot. But I saw him once again, far from here.” He would say no more about Bilbo.

“You do not ask me or tell me much that concerns yourself, Frodo.” said Gildor, suddenly interested in the hobbit. “But I already know a little, and I can read more in your face and in the thought behind your questions. You are leaving the Shire, and yet you doubt that you will find what you seek, or accomplish what you intend, or that you will ever return. Is not that so?”

“It is,” said Frodo. “But I thought my going was a secret known only to Gandalf, the Doctor, and my faithful Sam.” He looked down at Sam, who was snoring gently.

“The secret will not reach the Enemy from us.” promised Gildor.

“The Enemy?” said Frodo. “Then you know why I am leaving the Shire?”

“I do not know for what reason the Enemy is pursuing you,” answered Gildor, “but I perceive that he is – strange indeed though that seems to me. And I warn you that peril is now both before you and behind you, as well as upon either side.

“The Riders, you mean?” The Doctor asked. “I feared that they were servants of the Enemy. Might you tell us what they are?”

“Has Gandalf told you nothing?”

“Nothing of such creatures.”

“Then I think it is not for me to say more – least terror should keep you from your journey.” The Doctor groaned in annoyance. “For it seems to me that you have set out only just in time, if indeed you are in time. You must now make haste, and neither stay nor turn back; for the Shire is no longer any protection to you.”

“I cannot imagine what information could be more terrifying than your hints and warnings,” exclaimed Frodo. “I knew that danger lay ahead, of course, but I did not expect to meet it in our own Shire. Can’t a hobbit walk from the Water to the River in peace?”

“But it is not your own Shire,” said Gildor. “Others dwelt here before hobbits were, and others will dwell here again when hobbits are no more. The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot forever fence it out.”

“I know – and yet it has always seemed so safe and familiar.” Frodo sighed. “What can I do now? Our plan was to leave the Shire secretly and make our way to Rivendell; but now our footsteps are dogged, before ever we get to Buckland.”

“I think you should still follow that plan,” said Gildor. “I do not think the Road will prove too hard for your courage. But if you desire clearer counsel, you should ask Gandalf. I do not know the reason for your flight, and therefore I do not know what means your pursuers will assail you. These things Gandalf must know. I suppose that you will see him before you leave the Shire?”

“If he chooses.” The Doctor grumbled as Frodo said, “I hope so, but that is another thing that makes me anxious.” He looked at the Doctor anxiously. “We have been expecting Gandalf for many days. He was to have come to Hobbiton at the latest two nights ago, but he has never appeared. Now I am wondering what could have happened. Should we wait for him?”

Gildor was silent for a moment. “I do not like this news,” he said at last. “That Gandalf should be late, does not bode well. But it is said:  _ Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger _ . The Choice is yours: to go or wait.”

“And it is also said,” answered Frodo:  _ “Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes.” _

“Is it indeed?” laughed Gildor. “Elves seldom give unguarded advice, for advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill. But what would you? You have not told me all concerning yourself; and how then shall I choose better than you? But if you demand advice, I will, for friendship’s sake, give it. I think you should now go at once, without delay; and if Gandalf does not come before you set out, then I also advise this: Do not go alone. Take such friends as are trusty and willing. Now, you should be grateful, for I do not give this counsel gladly. The Elves have their own labours and their own sorrows, and they are little concerned with the way of hobbits, or of any other creatures upon this earth.” He glanced at the Doctor. “Our paths cross theirs seldom, by chance or purpose. In this meeting, there may be more than chance, but the purpose is not clear to me, and I fear to say too much.”

“We are deeply grateful,” The Doctor said, “But I wish you would tell us plainly what the Black Riders are. If we take your advice, we may not see Gandalf for a long while, and we ought to know what is the danger that pursues us.”

“Is it not enough to know that they are servants of the Enemy?” answered Gildor. “Flee them! Speak no words to them! They are deadly. Ask no more of me! But my heart forebodes that, ere all is ended, you, Doctor, child of Gallifrey, will know more of these things than Gildor Inglorin. May Elbereth protect you! Sleep now! In the morning, we shall have gone, but we will send our messages through the lands. The Wandering Companies shall know of your journey, and those that have power for good shall be on the watch. I name you and your friends Elf-friend, and may the stars shine upon the end of your road! Seldom have we had such delight in strangers, and it is fair to hear words of the Ancient Speech from the lips of other wanderers in the world.”

“I will sleep now,” Frodo said, and the Elf led him to a bower beside Pippin and he threw himself upon a bed and fell at once asleep.

The Doctor looked at Gildor, and he at the Doctor. “We have much to discuss.” Gildor said, and they spoke long into the night.


	5. A Short Cut To Mushrooms

The Doctor bid farewell to the Elves early that morning and waited for the hobbits to arise. Frodo was the last to wake, he was lying in a bower made by a living tree with branches laced and drooping to the ground; his bed was of fern and grass. The sun was shining through the fluttering leaves, which were still green upon the tree. He jumped up and went out. 

Frodo sat next to the Doctor, Sam, and Pippin and began to eat. “What is the plan for today?” asked Pippin.

“To walk to Bucklebury as quickly as possible.” The Doctor said. 

“Do you think we shall see anything of those Riders?” asked Pippin cheerfully. 

“Most likely.” The Doctor said regretfully. “But if we’re lucky, we will get across the river without their seeing us.”

“Did you find out anything about them from Gildor?”

“Not much.” The Doctor admitted, “He did not want to give me much information.” 

“Did you ask about the sniffing?”

“We didn’t discuss it,” The Doctor admitted, “But I don’t believe that he would have told me anyways.”

They paused and there was only silence and the sound of the hobbits chewing.

“Well, Sam.” Frodo said at last, “What about it? The Doctor and I are leaving the Shire as soon as we can – in fact we have not even wait a day at Crickethollow, if it can be helped.”

“Very good, sir!”

“You still mean to come with me?”

“I do.”

“It’s going to be very dangerous, Sam.” The Doctor said, “It’s already dangerous. Gandalf is the one who pressured you into coming, and you are more than welcome to return home to the Shire.”

“I still mean to come.” Sam said firmly.

The hobbits finished their breakfast in silence before setting off once again.

“We will make for Bucklebury Ferry as quickly as possible.” The Doctor said. “We will not go out of the way, back to the road we left last night: we will cut straight across the country from here.”

“Then you are going to fly,” said Pippin. “You won’t cut straight on foot anywhere in this country.”

“We can cut straighter than the road, anyway,” pointed out Frodo. “The Ferry is east from Woodhall, but the hard road curves away to the left – you can see a bend of it away north over there. It goes around the north end of the Marish so as to strike the causeway from the Bridge above Stock. But that is miles out of the way. We could save a quarter of the distance if we made a line for the Ferry from where we stand.”

_ “Short cuts make long delays.”  _ argued Pippin. “The country is rough around here, and there are bogs and all kinds of difficulties down in the Marish – I know the land in these parts. And if you are worrying about Black Riders, I can’t see that is any worse meeting them on a road than in a wood or a field.”

“It’s much more difficult to find people in the woods and fields,” The Doctor answered. “And if you are supposed to be on the road, there is some chance that you will be looked for on the road and not off it.”

“All right!” said Pippin. “I will follow you into every bog and ditch. But it is hard! I counted on passing the  _ Golden Perch  _ at Stock before sundown. The best beer in the east-farthing, or used to be: it is a long time since I tasted it.”

“Brilliant.” The Doctor grinned, “We want to get to Bucklebury before dark. What do you say, Sam?”

“I will go along with you, Mr. Frodo.” said Sam.

“Then if we are going to toil through bog and briar, let’s go now!” said Pippin.

It was already nearly as hot as it had been the day before; but clouds were beginning to come up from the west. It looked likely to turn to rain. The hobbits scrambled down a steep green bank and plunged into the thick trees below. Their course had been chosen to leave Woodhall to their left, and to cut slanting through the woods that clustered along the eastern side of the hills, until they reached the flats beyond. Then they could make straight for the Ferry over the country that was open, except for a few ditches and fences. The Doctor reckoned that they had approximately eighteen miles to go in a straight line.

He soon found that the thicket was closer and more tangled than it had appeared. There were no paths in the undergrowth, and they did not get on the very fast. When they had struggled to the bottom of the bank, they found a stream running down from the hills behind in a deeply dug bed with steep slippery sides overhung with brambles. Most inconveniently, it cut across the line they had chosen. They could not jump over it, nor indeed get across it at all without getting wet, scratched, and muddy. They halted, momentarily unsure as to what to do. 

“Look!” Sam suddenly said clutching the Doctor on the arm. They all looked, and on the edge, high above them, they saw against the sky a horse standing. Beside it stooped a black figure.

They at once gave up any idea of going back. The Doctor led the way, and plugged quickly into the thick bushes beside the stream. “We were both right.” Pippin said. “The short cut had gone crooked already; but we got under cover only just in time.”

They stood still, almost holding their breath as they listened; but there was no sound of pursuit. “I don’t fancy he would try bringing his horse down that bank.” said Sam. “But I guess he knows we came down it. We had better be going on.”

Going on was not altogether easy. They had packs to carry, and the bushes and brambles were reluctant to let them through. They were cut off from the wind by the ridge behind, and the air was still and stuffy. When they forced their way at last into more open ground, they were hot and tired and very scratched, and they were also no longer certain of the direction in which they were going. The banks of the stream sank, as it reached the levels and became broader and shallower, wandering off towards the Marish and the River.

“Why, this is the Stock-brook!” said Pippin. “If we are going to try and get back on to our course, we must cross at once and bear right.”

They waded the stream, and hurried over a wide open space, rush-grown and treeless, on the further side. Beyond that, they came again to a belt of trees: tall oaks, for the most part, with here and there an elm tree or an ash. The ground was fairly level, and there was little undergrowth; but the trees were too close for them to see far ahead. The leaves blew upwards in sudden gusts of wind, and spots of rain began to fall from the overcast sky. Then the wind died away and the rain came streaming down. They trudged along as fast as they could, over patches of grass, and through thick drifts of old leaves; and all about them the rain pattered and trickled. They did not talk, but kept glancing back, and from side to side.

After half an hour, Pippin said: “I hope we have not turned too much towards the south, and are not walking longwise through this wood! It is not a very broad belt – I should have said no more than a mile at the widest – and we ought to have been through it by now.”

“It is no good, our starting to go in zig-zags,” said Frodo. “That won’t mend matters. Let us keep on as we are going! I am not sure that I want to come out into the open yet.”

They went on for perhaps another couple of miles. Then the sun gleamed out of ragged clouds again and the rain lessened. It was now past mid-day, and they felt it was high time for lunch. They halted under an elm tree: its leaves, although fast-turning yellow and were still thick, and the ground at its feet and fairly dry and sheltered. When they came to make their meal, they found that the Elves had filled their bottles with a clear drink, pale golden in colour: it had the scent of a honey made of many flowers, and was wonderfully refreshing. The last few miles, they felt, would soon be behind them. 

The Doctor propped his back against the tree-trunk, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin sat near, and they began to hum, and then to sing softly:

_ “Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go _

_ To heal my heart and drown my woe. _

_ Rain may fall and wind may blow, _

_ And many miles be still to go, _

_ But under a tall tree I will lie, _

_ And let the clouds go sailing by.” _

“ _ Ho! Ho! Ho!”  _ The hobbits began again and louder. They stopped short suddenly, the Doctor sprang to his feet. A long-drawn wail came down the wind, like the cry of some lonely creature. It rose, fell, and ended on a high piercing note. Even as they sat and stood, as if suddenly frozen, it was answered by another cry, fainter and further off, but no less chilling to the blood. There was then a silence, broken only by the sound of the wind in the leaves.

“And what do you think that was?” Pippin asked at last, trying to speak lightly, but quavering a little. “If it was a bird, it was one that I never heard in the Shire before.”

No more was said about it. They were all thinking of the Riders, but no one spoke of them. They were now more reluctant either to stay or go on; but sooner or later, they had got to get across the open country to the Ferry, and it was best to go sooner and in daylight. In a few moments, they had shouldered their packs again and were off.

Before long, the wood came to a sudden end. Wide grasslands stretched before them. They now saw that they had, in fact, turned too much to the south. Away over the flats they could glimpse the low hill of Bucklebury across the River, but it was now to their left. Creeping cautiously out from the edge of the trees, they set off across the open as quickly as they could. 

Far back behind them stood the high place where they had eaten breakfast. The Doctor kept an eye out, somewhat expecting to see the small distant figure of a horseman on the ridge dark against the sky; but there was no sign of one. The sun escaping from the breaking clouds, as it sank towards the hills they had left, was now shining brightly again. They were still uneasy, but the land became steadily more tame and well-ordered. Soon, they came into well-tended fields and meadows: there were hedges and gates and dikes for drainage. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful, just an ordinary corner of the Shire. The Doctor was suspicious, but the hobbits’ spirits rose with every step. The line of the River grew nearer, and the Black Riders were nowhere to be seen.

They passed along the edge of a huge turnip-field, and came to a stout gate. Beyond it, a rutted lane ran between low well-laid hedges towards a distant clump of trees. Pippin stopped.

“I know the fields and this gate!” He said. “This is Bamfurlong, old Farmer Maggot’s land. That’s his farm away there in the trees.”

“One trouble after another!” said Frodo, looking rather frightened. The others looked at him in surprise.

“What’s wrong with old Maggot?” asked Pippin. “He’s a good friend to all the Brandybucks. Of course, he’s a terror to trespassers, and keeps ferocious dogs – but after all, folk down here are near the border and have to be more on their guard.”

“I know,” said Frodo. “But all the same,” he added with a shamefaced laugh, “I am terrified of him and his dogs. I have avoided his farm for years and years. He caught me several times trespassing after mushrooms, when I was a youngster at Brandy Hall. On the last occasion, he beat me, and then took me and showed me to his dogs. “See, lads,” he said, “Next time this young varmint sets foot on my land, you can eat him. Now see him off!” They chased me all the way to the Ferry. I have never got over the fright – though I daresay the beasts know their business and would not really have touched me.”

Pippin laughed. “Well, it’s time you made it up. Especially if you are coming back to live in Buckland. Old Maggot is really a stout fellow – if you leave his mushrooms alone. Let’s get into the lane and then we shan’t be trespassing. If we meet him, I’ll do the talking. He is a friend of Merry’s, and I used to come here with him a good deal at one time.”

They went along the lane until they saw the thatched roofs of a large house and farm-buildings peeping out among the trees ahead. The Maggots, the Puddifoots of Stock, and most of the inhabitants of the Marish, were house-dwellers; and this farm was stoutly built of brick and had a high wall all round it. There was a wide wooden gate opening out of the wall into the lane.

Suddenly, as they drew nearer, a terrific baying and barking broke out, and a loud voice was heard shouting: “Grip! Fang! Wolf! Come on, lads!”

The Doctor, Frodo, and Sam stopped dead, but Pippin walked on a few paces. The gate opened and three rather large dogs came pelting out into the lane and dashed towards the travellers, barking fiercely. The Doctor whipped his Sonic Screwdriver out, buzzing it at the dogs, who quickly backed off.

Through the gate, there now appeared a broad thick-set hobbit with a round red face. “Hallo! Hallo!” And who may you be, and what may you be wanting?” He asked.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Maggot!” said Pippin, who knew him best.

The farmer looked at him closely. “Well, if it isn’t Master Pippin – Mr. Peregrin Took, I should say!” He cried, changing from a scowl to a grin. “It's been a long time since I saw you round here. It’s lucky for you that I know you. I was just going out to set my dogs on any strangers. There are some funny things going on today. Of course, we do get odd folk wandering in these parts at times. Too near the River.” he said, shaking his head. “But this fellow was the most outlandish I have ever set eyes on. He won’t cross my land without leave a second time, not if I can stop it.”

“What fellow do you mean?” asked Pippin.

“Then you haven’t seen him?” said the farmer. “He went up the lane towards the causeway not a long while back. He was a funny customer and asking funny questions. But perhaps you’ll come along inside, and we’ll pass the news more comfortable. I’ve a drop of good ale on tap, if you and your friends are willing, Mr. Took.”

It seemed plain that the farmer would tell them more, if allowed to do it in his own time and fashion, so they all accepted the invitation. Pippin introduced the other three to the farmer. “Mr. Frodo Baggins,” he said. “You may not remember him, but he used to live at Brandy Hill.” At the name Baggins, the farmer started and gave Frodo a sharp glance, taking him by the arm.

“Well, if that isn’t stranger than ever!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Baggins, is it? Come inside! We must have a talk.”

They went into the farmer’s kitchen and sat by the wide fire-place. Mrs. Maggot brought out beer in a huge jug and filled four large mugs. It was a lovely brew, but the Doctor wasn’t particularly a fan of alcohol. Frodo seemed pleased with it, whilst Sam sipped it suspiciously. He had a natural mistrust of other parts of the Shire.

After a few remarks about the weather and the agricultural prospects (which were no worse than usual), Farmer Maggot put down his mug and looked at them all in turn. 

“Now, Mr. Peregrin,” he said, “where might you be coming from, and where might you be going to? Were you coming to visit me? For, if so, you had gone past my gate without my seeing you.”

“Well, no,” answered Pippin. “To tell you the truth, since you have guessed it, we got into the lane from the other end: we had come over your fields. But that was quite by accident.”

“You have leave to walk over my land, if you have a mind, Mr. Peregrin. And you, Mr. Baggins –” Mr. Maggot gave a pointed look at Frodo. “Though I daresay you still like mushrooms.” He laughed. “Ah yes, I recognized the name. I recollect the time when young Frodo Baggins was one of the worst young rascals of Buckland. But it wasn’t mushrooms I was thinking of. I had just heard the name Baggins before you turned up. What do you think that funny customer asked me?”

They waited anxiously for him to go on. “Well,” the farmer continued, approaching his point with slow relish, “he came riding on a big black horse in a gate, which happened to be open, and right up to my door. All black he was himself, too, and cloaked and hooded up, as if he did not want to be known. ‘Now what in the Shire can he want?’ I thought to myself. We don’t see many of the Big Folk over the border; and anyway I had never heard of any like this black fellow.

“‘Good-day to you!’ I says, going out to him. ‘This lane don’t lead anywhere, and wherever you may be going, your quickest way will be back to the road.’ I didn’t like the looks of him; and when Grip came out, he took one sniff and let out a yelp as if he had been stung: he put down his tail and bolted off howling. The black fellow sat quite still. 

“‘I come of yonder,’ he said, slow and stiff-like, pointing back west over  _ my  _ fields, if you please. ‘Have you seen  _ Baggins?’ _ he asked in an odd voice, and bent down towards me. I could not see any face, for his hood fell down so low, and I felt a sort of shiver down my back. But I did not see why he should come riding over my land so bold.

“‘Be off!’ I said. ‘There are no Bagginses here. You’re in the wrong part of the Shire. You had better go back west to Hobbiton – but if you can go by road this time.’

“‘Baggins has left,’ he answered in a whisper. ‘He is coming. He is not far away. I wish to find him. If he passes, will you tell me? I will come back with gold.’

“‘No you won’t,’ I said. ‘You’ll go back where you belong, double quick. I give you one minute before I call all my dogs.’

“‘He gave a sort of hiss. It might have been laughing, and it might not. Then, he spurred his great horse right at me, and I jumped out of the way only just in time. I called the dogs, but he swung off and road through the gate and up the lane towards the causeway like a bolt of thunder. What do you think of that?’

The Doctor sat for a moment, thinking deeply. This was deeply concerning. “I don’t know what to think.” Frodo said at last. 

“Then I’ll tell you what to think,” said Maggot. “You should never have gone mixing yourself up with Hobbiton folk, Mr. Frodo.” Sam stirred in his chair and looked at the farmer with an unfriendly eye. The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder to try to calm him. “But you were always a reckless lad. When I heard you had left the Brandybucks and gone off to that old Mr. Bilbo, I said that you were going to find trouble. Mark my words, this all comes of those strange doings of Mr. Bilbo’s. His money was got in some strange fashion in foreign parts, they say. Maybe there is some that want to know what has become of the gold and jewels that he buried in the hill of Hobbiton, as I hear?”

Neither the Doctor nor Frodo said nothing: the shrewd guesses of the farmer were rather disconcerting.

“Well, Mr. Frodo,” Maggot went on, “I’m glad that you’ve had the sense to come back to Buckland. My advice is: stay there! And don’t get mixed up with these outlandish folk. You’ll have friends in these parts. If any of these black fellows come after you again, I’ll deal with them. I’ll say you’re dead, or have left the Shire, or anything you like. And that might be true enough; for as like as not it is old Mr. Bilbo they want news of.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Frodo, avoiding the farmer’s eye and staring at the fire. 

Maggot looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, I see you have ideas of your own,” he said. “It is as plain as my nose that no accident brought you and that rider here on the same afternoon; and maybe my news was no great news to you, after all. I am not asking you to tell me anything you have a mind to keep to yourself; but I see you are in some kind of trouble. Perhaps you are thinking it won’t be too easy to get to the Ferry without being caught?”

“I was thinking so,” said Frodo. “But we have got to try and get there; and it wouldn’t be done by sitting and thinking. So I am afraid we must be going. Thank you very much indeed for your kindness! I’ve been in terror of you and your dogs for many years, Farmer Maggot, though you may laugh to hear it. It’s a pity: for I’ve missed a good friend. And now I’m sorry to leave so soon. But I’ll come back, perhaps, one day – if I get a chance.”

“You’ll be welcome when you come,” said Maggot. “But now I’ve a notion. It’s near sundown already, and we are going to have our supper, for we mostly go to bed soon after the Sun. If you and Mr. Peregrin and all could say and have a bite with us, we would be pleased!”

“And so should we!” said Frodo. “But we must be going at once, I’m afraid. Even now it will be dark before we can reach the Ferry.”

“Ah! But wait a minute! I was going to say: after a bit of supper, I’ll get out a small waggon and I’ll drive you all to the Ferry. That will save you a good step, and it might also save you trouble of another sort.”

Frodo accepted the invitation gratefully, to the relief of Pippin and Sam. The sun was already behind the western hills, and the light was failing. Two of Maggot’s sons and his three daughters came in, and a generous supper was laid on the large table. The kitchen was lit with candles and the fire was mended. Mrs. Maggot bustled in and out. One or two other hobbits belonging to the farm-household came in. In a short while, fourteen sat down to eat. There was beer in plenty, and a mighty dish of mushrooms and bacon, besides much other solid farmhouse fare. The dogs lay by the fire and gnawed rinds and cracked bones.

When they had finished, the farmer and his sons went out with a lantern and got the waggon ready. It was dark in the yard, when the guests came out. They threw their packs on board and climbed in. The farmer sat in the driving-seat, and whipped up his two stout ponies. His wife stood in the light of the open door.

“You be careful on yourself, Maggot!” she called. “Don’t go arguing with any foreigners, and come straight back!” 

“I will!” said he, and drove out of the gate. There was now no breath of wind stirring; the night was still and quiet, and a chill was in the air. They went without lights and took it slowly. After a mile or two, the lane came to an end, crossing a deep dike, and climbing a short slope up on to the high-banked causeway.

Maggot got down and took a good look either way, north and south, but nothing could be seen in the darkness, and there was not a sound in the still air. Thin strands of river-mist were hanging above the dikes, and crawling over the fields. 

“It’s going to be thick,” said Maggot; “But I’ll not light my lanterns until I turn for home. We’ll hear anything on the road long before we meet it tonight.”

It was five miles or more from Maggot’s lane to the Ferry. The Doctor and the hobbits wrapped themselves up, but their ears were strained for any sound above the creak of the wheels and the slow  _ clop  _ of the ponies’ hooves. The Doctor watched Frodo sitting there anxiously, Pippin was nodding off beside him, and Sam was staring forwards into the rising fog.

They reached the entrance to the Ferry lane at last. It was marked by two tall white posts that suddenly loomed up on their right. Farmer Maggot drew in his ponies and the waggon creaked to a halt. They were just beginning to scramble out when they suddenly heard what they had all been dreading: hooves on the road ahead. The sound was coming towards them. 

Maggot jumped down and stood holding the ponies’ heads and peering forwards into the gloom. The hooves sounded loud in the still foggy air.

“You’d better be hidden, Doctor, Mr. Frodo.” said Sam anxiously. “You ought to get down in the waggon and cover up with blankets and we’ll send this rider to the rightabouts!” He climbed out and went to the farmer’s side. Black Riders would have to ride over him to get near the waggon – but that’s what the Doctor was concerned about. 

“Hallo there!” called Farmer Maggot. THe advancing hooves stopped short. The figure was only a yard or two ahead, but the fog was too thick to properly see through. 

“Now then!” said the farmer, throwing the reins to Sam and striding forwards. “Don’t you come a step nearer! What do you want and where are you going?”

“I want the Doctor and Mr. Baggins. Have you seen him?” said a muffled voice – but the voice was of Merry Brandybuck. A dark lantern was uncovered, and its light fell on the astonished face of the farmer.

“Mr. Merry!” he cried.

“Yes, of course! Who did you think it was?” said Merry, coming forwards. He emerged from the mist riding a pony with a scarf swatched around his neck and over his chin to keep out the fog. 

The Doctor and Frodo emerged from the waggon to great him. “So there you are at last!” said Merry. “I was beginning to wonder if you would turn up at all today, and I was just going back to supper. When it grew foggy, I came across and rode up towards Stock to see if you had fallen in any ditches. But I’m blest if I know which way you have come. Where did you find them, Mr. Maggot? In your duck-pond?”

“No, I caught ‘em trespassing,” said the farmer, “and nearly set my dogs on ‘em; but they’ll tell you all the story, I’ve no doubt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Merry and Mr. Frodo and all, I’d best be turning for home. Mrs. Maggot will be worriting with the night getting thick.”

He backed the waggon into the lane and turned it. “Well, good night to you all,” he said. “It’s been an odd day, and no mistake. But all’s well as ends well; although perhaps we should not say that until we reach our own doors. I’ll not deny that I’ll be glad now when I do.” He lit his lanterns and got up. Suddenly, he produced a large basket from under the seat. “I was nearly forgetting,” he said. “Mrs. Maggot put this up for Mr. Baggins, with her compliments.” He handed it down and moved off, followed by a chorus of thanks and good-nights.

The Doctor watched the pale rings of light around the lanterns as they dwindled into the foggy night. Their adventure had only just begun.


	6. A Conspiracy Unmasked

“Now we had better get home ourselves,” said Merry. “There’s something funny about all this, I see; but it must wait until we get in.”

They turned down the Ferry lane, which was straight and well-kept and edged with large white-washed stones. In a hundred yards or so it brought them to the river-bank, where there was a broad wooden landing-stage. A large flat ferry-boat was moored beside it. The white bollards near the water’s edge glimmered in the light of two lamps on high posts. Behind them the mists in the flat fields were now above the hedges; but the water before them was dark, with only a few curling wisps like steam among the reeds by the bank. There seemed to be less fog on the further side.

Merry led the pony over a gangway on to the ferry, and the others followed. Merry then pushed slowly off with a long pole. The Brandywine flowed slow and broad before them. On the other side, the bank was steep and up it a winding path climbed from the further landing. Lamps were twinkling there. Behind loomed up the Buck Hill; and out of it, through stray shrounds of mist, shone many round windows, yellow and red. They were the windows of Brandy Hall, the ancient home of the Brandybucks.

The four hobbits and the Doctor stepped off the ferry. Merry was tying it up, and Pippin was already leaning the pony up the path, when Sam (who had been looking back, as if to take farewell of the Shire) said in a hoarse whisper:

“Doctor! Look!” The Doctor spun around and, in the distance, the Doctor could make out a figure. As he looked, it seemed to move and sway this way and that, as if searching the ground. It then crawled, or went crouching, back into the gloom beyond the lamps.

“What in the Shire is that?” exclaimed Merry.

“Something that’s not from the Shire…” The Doctor said quietly, “But it’s gone now, so, allons-y!” They hurried forth up the path to the top of the bank, but when they looked back the far shore was shrouded in mist, and nothing could be seen.

“Thank goodness you don’t keep any boats on the west-bank.” said Frodo. “Can horses cross the river?”

“They can go ten miles north to Brandywine Bridge – or they might swim.” Answered Merry. “Although I never heard of any horse swimming the Brandywine. But what have horses to do with it?”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s get indoors and then we can talk.”

“All right! You and Pippin know your way; so I’ll just ride on and tell Fatty Bolger that you are coming. We’ll see about supper things.”

“We had our supper early with Farmer Maggot,” said Frodo; “But we could do with another.”

“You shall have it! Give me that basket!” Said Merry, and rode ahead into the darkness.

It was some distance from the Brandywine to Frodo’s new house at Crickethollow. They passed Buck Hill and Brandy Hall on their left, and on the outskirts of Bucklebury struck the main road of Buckland that ran south from the Bridge. Half a mile northward along this they came to a lane opening on their right. This, they followed for a couple of miles as it climbed up and down into the country.

At last they came to a narrow gate in a thick hedge. Nothing could be seen of the house in the dark: it stood back from the lane in the middle of a wide circle of lawn surrounded by a belt of low trees inside the outer hedge. This was where they would be bidding Merry and Pippin farewell, but there was no rush, and so the travellers hung up their cloaks and piled their packs on the floor. Merry led them down a passage and threw open a door at the far end. Firelight came out, and a puff of steam.

“A bath!” cried Pippin. “Oh blessed Meriadoc!”

“Which order shall we go in?” Frodo asked, “Eldest first, or quickest first? You’ll be last either way, Master Peregrin.”

“Trust me to arrange things better than that!” said Merry. “In that room there are three tubs and a copper full of boiling water. There are also towers, mats, and soap. Get inside, and be quick!”

After they had bathed and cleaned themselves, they made their way into the kitchen for supper.

“I suppose you four won’t want mushrooms again?” said Fredegar without much hope.

“Yes, we shall!” cried Pippin.

When they finished, even Fredegar heaved a sigh of content. They pushed back the table and drew chairs around the fire.

“We’ll clear up later,” said Merry. “Now, tell me all about it! I guess that you have been having adventures, which was not quite fair without me. I want a full account; and most of all, I want to know what was the matter with old Maggot, and why he spoke to me like that. He sounded almost  _ scared,  _ if that is possible.

So the Doctor began to explain, Frodo, butting occasionally. They gave a full account of their journey from the time when they left Hobbiton. Sam gave various supporting nods and exclamations, but after a while Frodo fell silent. 

“I should think you were making it all up,” said Merry, “if I had not seen that black shape on the landing-stage – and heard the odd sound in Maggot’s voice. What do you make of it all, Frodo?”

“Cousin Frodo and the Doctor have been very close,” said Pippin. “But the time has come for them to open out. So far we have been given nothing more to go on than Farmer Maggot’s guess that it has something to do with old Bilbo’s treasure.”

“That was only a guess,” Frodo said hastily. “Maggot does not  _ know  _ anything.”

“Old Maggot is a shrewd fellow,” said Merry. “A lot goes on behind his round face that does not come out in his talk. I’ve heard that he used to go into the Old Forest at one time, and he has the reputation of knowing a good many strange things. But you can at least tell us, Frodo, Doctor, whether you think his guess good or bad.”

The Doctor thought for a long moment. “I think,” he said slowly, “that as far as guessing goes, his was good. There is a connexion with the adventure Bilbo and I partook in, and the Riders are looking, or perhaps one ought to say, searching for him, me, or Frodo. I don’t believe we are safe here or anywhere else.”

“Doctor, I think we should tell them.” Frodo said quietly.

“Frodo, I think you’ll find that they already know…” The Doctor said quietly.

“What?  _ You told them?” _

“No, he didn’t!” Merry promised, “It’s just, my dear Frodo, you are miserable because you don’t know how to say goodbye. You meant to leave the Shire, of course, but danger has come on sooner than you expected, and now you are making up your mind to go at once. And you don’t want to. We are very sorry for you.”

Frodo opened his mouth and shut it again. His look of surprise was so comical that the others let out a laugh.

“Dear old Frodo!” Pippin said. “Did you really think you had thrown dust in all our eyes? You have obviously been planning to go and saying farewell to all your haunts all this year since April. Why else would you have allowed Merry and I to accompany you for this leg of your adventure? And all this pretending you have come to the end of your money and actually selling your beloved Bag End to those Sackville-Bagginses! And all those close talks with Gandalf? Living with the Doctor?”

“Good heavens!” said Frodo. “I thought I had been both careful and clever. I don’t know what Gandalf would say! Is all the Shire discussing our departure, then?”

“Oh, no!” said Merry. “Don’t worry about that! The secret won’t keep for long, of course; but at present it is, I think only known to us conspirators. After all, you must remember that we know you well, and are often with you. We can usually guess what you are thinking. I knew Bilbo too. To tell you the truth, I have been watching you rather closely ever since he left. I thought you would go after him sooner or later; indeed, I expected you to go sooner, and lately we have been very anxious. We have been terrified that you might give us the slip, and go off suddenly, all on your own like he did. Ever since the spring, we have kept our eyes open, and one a good deal of planning on our account. You are not going to escape so easily!”

“But we must go.” Said Frodo. “It cannot be helped, dear friends. It is wretched for us all, but it is no use your trying to keep us. Since you have guessed so much, please help us and do not hinder us.”

“You do not understand!” said Pippin. “You must go – and therefore we must, too. Merry and I are coming with you. Sam is an excellent fellow, and would jump down a dragon’s throat to save you, if he did not trip over his own feet, and the Doctor is skillful, clever, and brave, but you will need more than two companions in your dangerous adventure.”

“Doctor?” Frodo looked at the Doctor for an answer. The Doctor considered this for a long moment.

“You must be sure that you understand,” The Doctor said, “that this is no treasure hunt, there will be no return journey. We are flying from deadly peril into deadly peril and that your life will never again return to what it once was, if we return at all.”

“Of course we understand,” said Merry firmly. “That is why we have decided to come. We know the Ring is no laughing matter, but we are going to do our best to help you against the Enemy.”

“The Ring!” said Frodo, now completely amazed.

“Yes, the Ring,” said Merry. “My dear old hobbit, you don’t allow for the inquisitiveness of friends. I have known about the existence of the Ring for years – before Bilbo and the Doctor went away, in fact; but since they had also regarded it as a secret, I kept the knowledge in my head, until we formed our conspiracy. I did not know Bilbo, of course, as well as I know you or the Doctor; I was too young, and he was also more careful – but he wasn't careful enough. If you want to know how I first found out, I will tell you.”

“Go on!” said Frodo faintly.

“It was the Sackville-Bagginses that were his downfall, as you might expect. One day, a year before the Party, I happened to be walking along the road when I saw Bilbo ahead. Suddenly, in the distance, the Sackville-Bagginses appeared, coming towards us. Bilbo slowed down, and then hey, presto! He vanished. I was so startled that I hardly had the wits to hide myself in a more ordinary fashion; but I got through the hedge and walked along the field inside. I was peeping through into the road after the Sackville-Bagginses had passed, and was looking straight at Bilbo when he suddenly reappeared. I caught a glint of gold as he put something back in his trouser-pocket.

“After that, I kept my eyes open. In fact, I confess that I spied. But you must admit that it was very intriguing, and I was only in my teens. I must be the only one in the Shire, besides you two, that has ever seen the old fellow’s secret book.”  
“You have read his book!” cried Frodo. “Good heavens above! Is nothing safe?”

“Be calm, Frodo.” The Doctor said, “In this universe, few things are left secret. That must be something you accept.”

“I should say,” said Merry helpfully, “I only had one rapid glance, and that was difficult to get. He never left the book about. I wonder what became of it. I should like another look. Have you got it, Fordo? Doctor?”

“No, we haven’t got it.” The Doctor said. “He must have brought it with him when he left.”

“Well, as I was saying,” Merry proceeded, “I kept my knowledge to myself, until this spring when things got serious. Then we formed our conspiracy; and as we were serious, too, and meant business, we have not been too scrupulous. Neither your nor the Doctor is an easy nut to crack, and Gandalf is worse. But if you want to be introduced to our chief investigator, I can produce him.”

“Who might he be?” The Doctor inquired. Frodo looked around as if he expected a masked figure to come out of a cupboard.

“Step forwards, Sam!” said Merry, and Sam stood up with a face, scarlet up to the ears. “Here’s our collector of information! And he collected a lot, I can tell you, before he was finally caught. After which, I may say, he seemed to regard himself as on parole, and dried up.”

“Brilliant, Sam.” The Doctor grinned. 

“What?” All four of them stared at the Doctor. 

“That’s brilliant, Sam.” The Doctor repeated. “Inquisitive mind,” He tapped Sam’s forehead, “It’ll get you far.”

“Oh – er – Thank you, Doctor, sir.”

“Doctor!” Frodo cried, the Doctor turned to him, his head cocked curiously. “It does not seem as if I can trust anyone anymore!”  
“Oh, Frodo.” The Doctor smiled, “Sometimes, you’ll find that it is all for the best. It all truly depends on what you want. You can trust them as I do, to stick with you through thick and thin, to the bitter end. You can trust them to keep any secret of yours closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust them to let you face trouble alone and go off without word.”

“We are your friends, Frodo.” Merry put in.

“But what of you, Doctor?” Frodo suddenly asked. “You speak as Gandalf does, in a way that seems to upset yourself, as if you shall not be accompanying us, or that you at least do not trust them with your own secrets, much as you do not trust me.”

The Doctor sighed, a faint smile on his face. “There are some things best left secret, Frodo, I am very old and have knowledge that can be very dangerous in the wrong hands – in  _ anyone’s  _ hands. I do intend to join you for every part of our journey, and I have more trust for you than you know.”

“We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly afraid – but we are coming with you or following you like hounds.

“And after all, sir,” added Sam, “you ought to take the Elves’ advice. Gildor said you should take them as was willing, and you can’t deny it.”

“I don’t deny it,” said Frodo, looking at the Doctor, Sam, Pippin, and Merry. “You are a set of deceitful scoundrels! But bless you!” he laughed, getting up and waving his arms. “I give in. We shall take Gildor’s advice. If the danger were not so dark, I should dance for joy. Even so, I cannot help feeling happy; happier than I have felt for a long time. I had dreaded this evening.”

“Brilliant.” The Doctor grinned. “It’s settled, then.”

There were cheers from the company and Merry and Pippin began a song, which they had apparently ready for the occasion. It was made on the model of the dwarf-song that started Bilbo and the Doctor on their adventure long ago, and went to the same tune:

_ Farewell we call to hearth and hall! _

_ Though wind may blow and rain may fall, _

_ We must away ere break of day _

_ Far over wood and mountain tall. _

_ To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell _

_ In glades beneath the misty fell, _

_ Through moor and waste we ride in haste, _

_ And whither then we cannot tell. _

_ With foes ahead, behind us dread, _

_ Beneath the sky shall be our bed, _

_ Until at last our toil be passed, _

_ Our journey done, our errand sped. _

_ We must away! We must away! _

_ We ride before the break of day! _

“Very good!” said Frodo. “But in that case, there are a lot of things to do before we go to bed – under a roof, for tonight at any rate.”

“Oh! That was Poetry!” said Pippin. “Do you really mean to start before the break of day?”

“I don’t know.” answered Frodo. “I fear those Black Riders, and I am sure it is unsafe to stay in one place long, especially in a place to which it is known I was going. Also Gildor advised us not to wait. But I should very much like to see Gandalf –” The Doctor rolled his eyes dramatically. “– I could see that even Gildor was disturbed when he heard that Gandalf had never appeared. It really depends on two things. How soon could the Riders get to Bucklebury? And how soon could we get off? It will take a good deal of preparation.”

“The answer to the second question,” said Merry, “is that we could get off in an hour. I have prepared practically everything. There are five ponies in a stable across the fields; stores and tackle are all packed, except for a few extra clothes, and the perishable food.”

“Brilliant.” The Doctor grinned at Merry. 

“But what of the Black Riders?” Frodo asked. “Would it be safe to wait one day for Gandalf?”

“That depends on what you think the Riders would do if they found you here,” answered Merry. “They  _ could  _ have reached here by now, of course, if they were not stopped at the North-gate where the Hedge runs down to the river-bank, just this side of the Bridge. The gate-guards would not let them through by night, though they might break through. Even in the daylight they would try to keep them out, I think, at any rate until they got a message through to the Master of the Hall – for they would not like the look of the Riders, and would certainly be frightened by them. But, of course, Buckland cannot resist a determined attack for long. And it is possible that in the morning, even a Black Rider that rode up may be let through.”

The Doctor thought for a long while. “Right, then,” he said finally. “I’ll start tomorrow as soon as it’s light, but not by road: it would be safer to wait here than that. If I go through the North-gate, our departure from Buckland will be known at once, instead of being secret for several days at least, as it might be. Not only that, but the Bridge and the East Road near the borders will certainly be watched, whether any Rider gets into Buckland or not. We don’t know how many there are, but there are at least two and possibly more. The only thing to do is to go off in an unexpected direction.”

“But that can only mean going into the Old Forest!” cried Pippin.

“It sounds very desperate, but I believe you are right.” Merry said, “It is the only way of getting off without being followed at once. With luck, we might get a considerable start.”


End file.
